


Like Clockwork

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But also not, Episode: s03e15 Yesterday's Enterprise, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Identity Issues, Nonsexual Consent Issues, Time Shenanigans, alternate tashas decisions seem a little ooc but i do my best to justify it, android rights and emotions, android!tasha yar, but its rectified, i had a hell of a time deciding how to tag this, references to episodes The Measure of a Man and Brothers, soong-type androids, sort of canon character death but also i completely retconned some of it, the emotion chip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23807968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: This is what Data learns: In an alternate timeline that he cannot remember, a not-dead Tasha Yar helped stop a war between the Federation and the Klingons by going back in time with the Enterprise C. She escaped Romulans, found one Doctor Noonian Soong, and helped him to build an android. And android who is, functionally, Tasha, with her personality, her memories, and most significantly, her love for Data.This is what Data learns: Identity and emotion are a great deal more complicated than that.
Relationships: Data (Star Trek)/Android Character, Data/Tasha Yar
Comments: 40
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea how to tag this without sounding really confusing. The inception is simple: I went, "I wish we had a universe where Tasha could live with Data forever, where she wouldn't age like humans do." And then I thought, "Oh! AU where she makes an android of herself! It can tie into Yesterday's Enterprise and everything!" And as I wrote it, finally I thought, "Huh. There are probably some ethics here that I might have to address." The result is a fic about a woman who both is and isn't Tasha Yar, and the things she feels for Data. The vibe is fundamentally datasha, even if the characters aren't quite the same. It's good, I promise. Let me know if I've missed any tags that might be important.
> 
> A million thanks to unicornspaceinvasion for encouraging me, because without that I might never have put this down in writing. Posting will be ongoing twice a week (I'll try for Thursdays and Mondays), but all 12 chapters have been written, so you don't have to worry about it being abandoned.

His face was older than the one she knew, but even in a different color there was still no mistaking those eyes, the curve of the nose and chin still distinct even amongst the wrinkles. It took flashing a smile, then a dataPADD for him to let her in, and when she finally stepped over the threshold, she said, “You’re a difficult man to find, Doctor.”

He harrumphed, his voice both familiar and alien, colored by time. “That’s the idea,” he said. He wasn’t looking as he weaved his way around science equipment and personal items, strewn haphazardly in a room that looked part living space, part library, part lab. She had to pick her way through, each step careful, but his eyes were fixed on the PADD as he asked, “You really know my son?”

“I do.” Would know him, anyway, or a version of him, but she was still getting a feel for this man and the less she told him the better. Timelines, and all that. She might not have been Starfleet any longer, but she still believed in the Temporal Prime Directive. Well. To a point.

The doctor shook his head, less for her answer and more his response. “I was sorry to leave him behind, you know. My wife…well, that’s not important. He’s up and kicking, that’s the important thing.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Is he the spitting image of his old man?”

“You look very much alike.” Give or take several decades, she thought.

“Such a beautiful face,” he murmured, catching his reflection in a bit of glass. He touched his cheek. “This one will fade, but his? His can last forever.”

There was a wistful quality to the words that surprised her. “You really do love your son, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do.” And despite the vanity he exuded, she believed him. There were lots of reasons to love someone, after all. He stroked his fingertips over the PADD. “What’s he like?”

Softer than she expected. “He’s smart, like his father. And…so human.”

“Well, that was the idea.”

And this was the tricky bit, the delicate balance of flattery and deception, because she knew a proud man when she saw one, and proud men shut down all ideas not their own. She’d seen him, in passing at Starfleet and on holovids detailing the attempts at replicating his work for the war. This man knew nothing of that, but if he was anything like the other, his work was his pride and he would accept no input from others. She chose her words carefully. “He wishes he felt more.”

The doctor waved a hand. “Oh, he feels. More or less. The algorithms are weaker than I would have liked for that go-around, but anything stronger was unstable. I’ve been working on improving the work. To give it back, you understand.”

“That’s generous of you.”

“Oh, any father would do it.”

She trailed her hand along the bookshelves. No dust came away on her fingers. The doctor was either fastidiously clean or impressively well-read, and she was inclined to think the latter. She didn’t look at him. Her voice was casual. “It’s just a shame.”

“Oh?”

“Well, living forever is all well and good, but living forever and feeling it…that’s a tragedy.” She offered a sigh. It felt unnatural in her throat.

Still, it got his attention. He peered at her, curious. “How so?”

She paused, suppressing a smile. Baited and hooked. She forced the affect back into her voice, as if choked up at the thought. “To learn to care about people, and to watch them all die? Grief is human, but I wonder…”

He was quiet. She held her breath. This had to work. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she’d given everything else. She thought about Morality and Ethics. About passing, top of her class, because she knew better than anyone that life was cruel. It hurt, and then it ended. You did what you had to in order to survive.

There was no war in this timeline. She didn’t know if that changed her score.

Eventually, the doctor broke the silence. “I had intended to give him companionship.” He was talking to himself, she thought, not her. “His brothers…” he began, and then trailed off, shaking his head again, “but of course that’s all for naught.”

She got to the end of the shelf and picked up a photograph, tucked so far back in the books that it was almost invisible. He and the woman in it were both smiling, younger and holding each other. “How is your wife?” she asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen. He looked down. “Love does strange things, to man and machine.” He paused. “Perhaps…it would be complicated work, but perhaps…”

“Doctor?”

“You know my son.” He gestured with the PADD. On it were images, the one thing she allowed herself to bring back. Those memories were the only good thing she had. And maybe it was selfish, but she really wasn’t doing it for herself. She was trying to give something back.

She turned, clasping her hands behind her back. “I do know him.”

“Well, I take it.”

“Very well.”

A slow smile spread across his face, a sly expression she’d never seen on his son. It distorted his features until he was almost unrecognizable. “Well then, my dear,” he all but purred. “How would you like to help me make history?”

“Make history, sir?”

“One successful Soong-type android is a marvelous feat, but one can be a fluke, a happy chance. _Two_ successes, on the other hand, two androids who know they’re androids, who everyone _else_ knows are androids…” He reached for a blank PADD, punching buttons. “Two is indisputable. I’ll just need a basis for the model.”

Tasha smiled. “I think I can help you with that.”


	2. Chapter One

Data knew he should have a more scientific explanation for his conclusion. In technicality, he did. He had analyzed the tests, and the coding stylization was undeniable. Her memory files were programmed perfectly, but their content was inaccurate with history as they knew it. She had, in a moment of frustration – _frustration_ – twisted and yanked her arm from her sleeve and slapped it down on the table in front of him in Engineering, and upon replacing it, Data had noted that she was assembled physically in the same manner that he was. When taking all of the information into account, they had no reason to believe she was anything other than who she said she was: a Soong-type android, designed by Data’s creator and a woman from another timeline, finally activated and set with a homing beacon that brought her straight to the golden child in the sky. Her design was clearly Soong’s work, and she was too like Tasha – inside and out – for it to be a coincidence, but just different enough that what little she’d said made sense, and Picard had cautiously determined that there was no reason to believe she was lying. They had proof of the homing beacon. They had enough data they were convinced.

Nonsensically, it was the hair.

Data had run the tests and analyzed them, but he had already believed her. He did not know if it spoke to his character, a naivete that had been pointed out to him more than once, but as he’d listened to her story, Data had fixated on her hair. It was not the same as he remembered. Surely, he had reasoned, if she were a trap, to trick and snare the _Enterprise_ , she would have been made perfectly, as like Tasha in image as it was possible to be, to invoke their memories and sympathy. There was no reason to make her slightly off. There was no reason to change her hair.

“She’s real,” Geordi said. “At least, she is what she says she is.”

They were in the observation lounge, sitting around the briefing table. The ship was humming beneath their feet, but otherwise the room was silent. The lights were low. No one spoke to turn them brighter. They stared at the table, and Data thought they must be remembering.

It was the captain who broke it, but even when he did it was quiet. “Why?”

Data kept his voice appropriately soft. “We do not know yet.”

“She says she was made for you, Data,” Geordi pointed out.

He did not meet his friend’s eyes. He was aware they knew, if only in assumption, about his connection to Tasha, but he still did not like to speak of it. “I do not understand why Tasha would do such a thing,” he said.

“She said there was a war on,” Deanna said. “Between the Federation and the Klingons. Tasha went back to help stop it.” She toyed with her hair, tugging on the ends of the curls with half-hearted fingertips, arm folded protectively across her chest.

Riker took up the baton. “I don’t understand how she got away. That _Enterprise_ was destroyed by the Romulans. According to the historical reports, there were no survivors.”

“That we know of, Number One.”

“It is an unlikely story.” Data hesitated, glancing to Picard. “I observed a few of her memory files. If they are to be believed, Tasha was able to trick the Romulan leader, who intended to take her as his consort, and escaped their vessel before it reached Romulus. It is implausible, but possible.”

“But then why track down Soong?” Doctor Crusher asked. “Why not come back to us herself when the timelines were safe?”

“I do not have an answer.”

“None of us do,” Picard said. He sat forward, lacing his fingers together on the table. “The only one who has the answers is an android sitting in docking bay two, wearing the face of a friend.”

“A dead friend,” Riker said.

Picard gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but he directed his addressal to Data. “If she was made for you, or at least believes she was, it stands to reason that she’ll give you the answers. I know it might be…difficult for you, but-“

Data did not know that it would be difficult. He knew Picard meant it in an emotional sense. There was something inside him which felt heavy, but he didn’t know if that was the same. “I will question her, Captain,” he said dutifully.

Picard held out a hand as he stood. “Data. It’s not an interrogation. I’d like to trust her. We just need more information than we have.”

“I understand.”

She was lounging on the wing of her ship when he entered the shuttle bay. There were security guards posted at the door, as a precaution, and they nodded to him when he entered and then looked away politely. The android with Tasha’s face sat forward, smiling at his approach. She was not wearing a Starfleet uniform, but she was still clad in yellow and black, in a tunic with intricate folds across her torso and a pair of dark slacks tucked into her high boots. “Back for another round?” she said when he approached.

“The captain would like me to ask you a few more questions.”

She spread her hands, then rested her elbows on her knees. “Ask away.”

He gestured towards the ship, and she hopped up obligingly, opening the hatch and climbing inside. Data stepped in after her, watching as she ran a hand over the dash and settled into the pilot’s seat, her legs stretched out in front of her, at ease. There was no space for a copilot. He took a bench in the back, more likely designed for cargo than a person. It was a small shuttle, grey and run-down, but it was private. The security guards were human, but Data still didn’t want to risk them overhearing. The situation seemed…personal.

“What should I call you?” he asked.

A slow grin spread across her face. “You really don’t know what to make of me, do you?”

“We do not. That is why I am here.”

“You can call me Tasha, Data.”

“You are not her.”

“Eh.” She shrugged with one shoulder, tilting her head down. She leaned back in the seat. “What makes a person who they are?”

“A combination of genetic sequences and experience.”

“Well, I’ve got the experience.” She tapped her temple with one finger, then leaned her cheek against her hand. “All her memories. Or, at least, all the ones they could copy. And since they built me as close to her specifications as possible, I think that makes up for the lack of genetics. What do you think?”

“I think Tasha would not want to be replaced.”

“Maybe.” Her lips twisted into a wry expression. “You can still call me that, though. It’s the only name I have.”

“You could choose another, if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Data let it go. “Why did you come to the _Enterprise?_ ”

“I told you. I felt…pulled here.”

“By me.”

“Doctor Soong put a homing beacon in you when you were created. I’ve got one too. It lets him call us back to the nest if need be. Or, in this case, call me to you.” She drummed her fingers against the upholstery. “I didn’t know who you were when they woke me up. I was alone. No memories. Just this ship and this…pull.”

“You did not question it?”

“I didn’t need to. I didn’t have anything else.” She crossed one leg over the other. “As I got closer, I started to remember. The war. You. I had to get back to you.”

“You had never met me.”

“I… _she_ had.” She shook her head. “I’m her. That’s what I…what she wanted me to be. As much her as possible. They’re her memories, but they feel like mine. She wanted to get back to you, so I did too.”

“And the _Enterprise_.”

“No. I mean…yes, but no.”

“Explain.”

“The timeline diverged. I didn’t know if you’d be here. That was…okay.” She patted the dash. “I’ve got my own little _Enterprise_ , just in case. I know she’s not so impressive, but I did get a little attached.”

“Why would Tasha not provide you access to your memories until we came into proximity?”

“I don’t know. What was it like when you woke up?”

Data considered. “I did not have any memories either.”

“What did you do?”

“I complied with the people who found and activated me. It seemed appropriate.”

“Did you know you were an android?”

“Yes.”

“So did I.” Tasha looked away, out the viewscreen. “I think she was afraid that if I knew more, I might not go.”

“You still did not have to.”

“No. But it made me want answers. Coming here gave me them.”

“And left us with questions.”

She laughed. “That’s true. Am I answering them?”

“Some.” Data sat forward, clasping his hands. “Why did Tasha request your construction?”

“I was made for you.”

“You have said that. But I do not understand why.”

Tasha looked at him, then dropped her gaze to the floor. “She loved you.”

Data blinked. “I do not understand.”

“In her timeline, she loved you. I don’t…I don’t know how different it is here. It was war. You had to be careful about getting close. It made people hard. But then I met you, on the _Enterprise_ , and you were…you were so _soft_. You cared, in a way I’d never seen before. We fell in love.”

Breathing was a part of Data’s functioning, even if it was not a necessity. The algorithms were still functioning, and yet, he found he was not using them.

Tasha continued. “Three years. That’s how long we had. And it’s…in a war, three years is forever. And then we met the _Enterprise C_. The one who had been lost. And Tasha realized she was supposed to have died.” She looked up, and her eyes were sharp and blue. “It wasn’t fair! What kind of a choice is that? My life or billions?” She quieted, settling again. “I knew the score. It was war. And maybe I was a little selfish. If I went back…we were probably going to die, but if there was a chance…”

“You did not do any of those things. Tasha did.”

“It still feels like me.” Her gaze stayed fixed on her own hands, clenched in her lap. “I showed you how I…how she escaped. She knew Doctor Soong from his work with Starfleet, how when the war started he left Terlina III to try and help. She figured he’d still be there, and when she found him…”

“They made you.”

“They made me. It took them a long time to get it just right. Then, I guess, they put me in storage until they were sure I couldn’t contaminate the timeline.”

“Is Tasha still alive now?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about Doctor Soong?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I don’t…have all the answers. I wish I had more of them, but I don’t. Tasha was a solider. I don’t think she knew how to live in peace. But she loved you. She didn’t want you to be alone.”

“She made you to love me?”

“Something like that.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

She laughed. There was a bitterness to it that Data recognized. “I don’t know. Same way you do, I guess.”

“I do not feel love.”

“You do. You just don’t recognize it.” She reached into the folds of her tunic. Data tensed, prepared for a weapon, but she held a hand up, and then pulled out a flat, clear disk and handed it to him. He held it up to the light. In the center, encased in the glass, sat a microchip. “It’s for you,” she told him.

“What is it?”

“An upgrade.” Tasha bounced her leg and then, when that wasn’t enough, lurched to sit on the floor, cross-legged. “My programming is more advanced than yours, but not by much. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that your feelings are…muted. Harder to recognize by human standards. You were designed that way after Lore failed.”

“Then Lore could feel?”

“Mostly. His emotion algorithms were unstable. That’s why they were weakened in you. This is a stable version of the coding. It won’t change any of the things you feel, it’ll just make the emotions stronger. Recognizable.” She watched him. “There’s some other stuff too. It’ll unlock your dream program. Taste, that sort of thing. It won’t change you, not really. It’ll just build on what you already are.”

It was a great deal to take in. Data was capable of processing far more information at once than the average human, but even so, he found his systems having trouble with Tasha’s words. He set the chip on the floor between them. “I do not think I can accept this.”

She pushed it back. “Take it to Geordi. Have it analyzed. Then make your decision.”

He stared at it. Feelings. Taste. Dreams. “In the alternate timeline, did I have this?”

“No.”

“Then how did I know I was in love with Tasha?”

“You didn’t. Not at first. But you cared for her. And that was enough.”

“You say ‘at first.’ Did something change?”

“I spent two weeks in a coma after a Klingon assault. We’d been together ten months. When I woke up, you said that you hadn’t known how to function without me. You had identified the sensation as love.”

“Is that love?”

“I don’t know. Not for me. I could function without you.”

“Then why do you believe you love me?”

She shrugged. “I just do.”

Data studied her. She looked uncertain. Finally, he picked up the chip. “Geordi and I will analyze it.” There could be no harm in that.

She relaxed. He hadn’t even noticed the tension in her shoulders until it was released. “Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

“You have placed us in a difficult position,” he told her.

“About the chip?”

“About you.” Data closed the disk inside his fist. “You are not Tasha. Even if we assume you are as close to her as it is possible for an android to be, you are still an android. Starfleet will have questions.”

“Have you told them about me?”

“Not yet.”

“But you will.”

“I assume the captain will do so after my report.”

“And what will you tell him?”

Data looked around the cramped shuttle, and then to her. “I will tell him I believe you are sincere. I will relay your understanding of Tasha’s motives surrounding your creation.” He held up the chip. “I will tell him about this, and I expect he will be suspicious.” He hesitated. “But I will also tell him that I believe we should give you a chance.”

She looked wary, but there was hope in her voice. “A chance for what?”

“I do not know,” he admitted. “But we should give you one anyway.”

Tasha nodded, slow, comprehending. “I guess we’ll have to see what Starfleet says, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Data said. “I suppose we will.”


	3. Chapter Two

“I thought I might find you here.” Geordi set a hand on Data’s shoulder as he came up behind him, a moment of contact that Data was, unexpectedly, grateful for. “How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“I am alright.” Data did not turn to look at him. The holodeck’s grass was lush beneath his feet, ever green. The monument in front of him was empty. There was no body beneath the artificial ground. But this was how he remembered it, and it was close enough.

Geordi nudged him. “What’d the captain say when you made your report?”

“Her explanation is satisfactory for him. He has sent the report to Starfleet Command. We will see what they think when they respond.”

Geordi nodded. He seemed at a loss. Data could relate to the sensation. There were many situations that Starfleet Academy attempted to prepare its officers for. This was not one of them.

“Do you think she is Tasha?” Data asked eventually.

“She’s an android, Data,” Geordi pointed out.

“I am aware of that. But…to hear her describe it, she is as close to Tasha as they could make her. She contains most of Tasha’s memories. Does that not make her the same person?”

Geordi clicked his tongue. “You’re asking the wrong guy. Philosophers have been debating this kind of thing for centuries and still haven’t decided on an answer. I’ll tell you something, though. Even if she is Tasha, in any way that matters, she’s still not our Tasha.”

“No?”

“Her experiences are different. She lived longer, for one thing. During a war, no less. That kind of thing…it changes a person.”

Data nodded. His vision was sensitive enough to pick up every minute fracture in the stone marker’s base. He wondered if Geordi’s VISOR saw the same. “It seems…wrong.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I believe, by most human ethical standards, intentionally duplicating a human being is considered immoral.”

“I guess it depends on who does it. And why.”

“Tasha created an android to function as my partner,” Data said. He looked at Geordi. “Designing a person to serve another person does not seem ethical to me. Even when based on the person who created them.”

Geordi looked down. “Yeah. It doesn’t really sound like Tasha, does it? I can’t imagine her thinking that _anyone_ should be made for another person. Much less a version of herself.”

“Am I interrupting?”

They both turned, and Data shook his head as Commander Riker stepped cautiously onto the holodeck. “Was there something you needed, Commander?”

“The captain’s turned in his report to Starfleet Command.” Riker joined them by the monument, resting a hand on his waist.

“We heard,” Geordi said.

“I hate waiting.” Riker kicked at the grass with his toe. “I wish they’d just give us an answer.”

“What do you think they’ll say?”

Riker shrugged. “Other than Lore, Data’s the only Soong-type android anyone’s ever seen. They’ll probably ask us to bring her in for inspection.”

Data felt their eyes turn to him. He avoided looking back. He remembered the labs of Starfleet Headquarters. He remembered the invasive questions and instruments, the way the scientists often spoke as if he wasn’t present, debating the best course to take in their examinations, and at times complaining that things would go much more smoothly if they were allowed to dismantle ‘the unit’ and analyze the pieces in detail. At the time, Data had not felt this was particularly cruel, but looking back, it wasn’t a fate he wished on any other being. “I should go,” he said. “I have a shift, and I should not be late.”

“The night watch,” Riker acknowledged. He reached over and squeezed Data’s shoulder, much like Geordi had. “Good luck.”

Data didn’t point out that luck, if it did exist as a principle of the universe, had nothing to do with anything. The ship might have run on a rotation, but there was no night in space – or only night, depending on how one looked at it. Things rarely happened on the night shift, but Data extrapolated that that had more to do with the day shift’s final orders than anything else. The night shift was almost always traveling, usually in a straight line. No detours. No trouble.

The bridge was quiet when he stepped onto it, relieving Worf after the lieutenant’s report. Most of the stations had already been turned over, the officers manning their positions in silence. More than one appeared to be already drifting off in thought, but Data allowed this. He was preoccupied himself.

The Captain’s Chair was the same size as the rest of the seats on the bridge. Data knew this logically. That didn’t stop it from seeming to engulf him when he sat down, sinking into the seat and resting his arms on the armrests. The helmsman nodded to him. He nodded back.

Counselor Troi had caught him earlier, on his way to the holodeck. She had asked if he needed to talk. He had thanked and dismissed her, but now he wondered if a counselor wasn’t what he needed. He thought about the emotion chip, shown to Picard and Geordi, currently tucked away in Engineering to be examined in the morning. His captain and his friend had both expressed skepticism and concern, but Data’s thoughts kept returning to the little piece of machinery and the android Tasha’s words. It would make him feel.

More. It would make him feel more. And that was the bit that Data could not wrap his processors around. He was programmed to react a certain way to certain stimuli, mimicking some rudimentary appearance of emotion, but to suggest there was any real feeling behind it…Data knew what he was. A machine. The counselor couldn’t feel any emotions from him, and he knew his reactions were not those typical of being who felt emotion. Data had scoured texts on the subject looking for insight. He had been compared to a Vulcan more than once, but even Vulcans described the deep-seated nature of emotions, the turbulence that existed beneath the skin even when masked. Data felt no turbulence. He could not truly identify feeling anything at all.

But still the thought remained.

“Hey.”

Data looked up. He had heard the turbolift doors, but he had assumed it was another crewman attending to their station. It wasn’t. Tasha stood before him, hugging her arms to her chest. He had never seen the real Tasha look this uncertain.

“You should not be here,” he told her.

“I know. I got restless.” She glanced around. “It looks different than I remember.”

“That is because your memories are not consistent with this timeline. This _Enterprise_ is not designed for war.” Data tilted his head. “Why did you come to the bridge?”

“The computer said you were here.”

“Your presence here will likely be met with suspicion.”

“From Starfleet, probably,” Tasha agreed. “What about from you?”

“I…do not have enough data to form an opinion.”

“Then what do your instincts say?”

“I have none.”

“Sure you do.” Tasha folded her arms. A smile played at her lips, but it was nervous and small. “I’ve got them.”

“Assuming that is true-“

“It is!”

“-your programming is not completely consistent with mine. You are…more advanced.”

“Barely.”

She was still standing. It seemed inappropriate, but so did offering her a seat. Finally, he decided on the latter. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Thanks.” She settled to his right, usually Command Riker’s perch, and turned towards him. “So, you trust me, then?”

“I did not say that.”

“No. But you aren’t making me leave.”

“That is true.” Data glanced towards helm control and ops. Neither appeared to think anything was out of the ordinary. He lowered his voice further anyway. “Why did you seek me out tonight?”

“I said. I got restless.”

“And you choose to find me?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. She stared at the viewscreen, watching the stars go by. “You’ve got a better view than my _Enterprise_ right now.”

“Tasha.”

She looked back. Data registered doubt in her expression, in the crinkles of her eyes and forehead. He wondered if he appeared so expressive. He couldn’t imagine he did. But it was convincing. Data was more than willing to believe that she could feel.

“I feel better with you,” she said. “Don’t ask me to explain it.”

“Your neural pathways were designed to anticipate my presence.”

“What?”

“You were made to miss me when I am gone.”

“…yeah. I was.”

She bounced her foot. Data watched it move. “May I ask you another question?”

“Always.”

“The Tasha I knew, in this timeline, experienced great tragedy at a young age, on Turkana IV. I do not believe she would have been willing to do what you claim she did in your timeline, to commit any version of herself to, in essence, serve another individual.”

“That’s not what this is.”

Data pressed the point. “You say you were intended for me. Created to love me, and to function as my partner. In assigning you that role, and designing you to fulfill it, were you not, in the strictest sense, made to serve me?”

She stared at him. “That’s…I…”

“You understand, then, why I have had difficulty understanding your existence?” Data leaned forward, towards her. “The Tasha I knew would never have created you, and I cannot understand why any version of her would feel differently. Even assuming she did not share a childhood on Turkana IV-“

“She did,” Tasha mumbled, still in a daze.

Data nodded. “Even so, you indicated she was to be taken as a consort for a Romulan general. Escaping that sort of ownership-“

“Data. Please. Stop.”

He fell silent, head tilted. “I have upset you.” He tried to keep the statement neutral, but found it difficult. To watch her feel, even distress, even knowing he was the cause, was still a wonder, nevertheless.

“I didn’t…” Tasha was still attempting to move her mouth, but there was more silence than speech. “I don’t…”

“Sir?”

They both turned, a precise, mechanical motion that made the ensign tense and step back before offering out the PADD she was carrying. “A report, sir,” she said. “From Engineering.”

He accepted it with a nod. “Thank you, ensign. You are dismissed.”

She cast one last curious glance at Tasha and then scurried away. Tasha, for her part, didn’t look back at Data, but stayed transfixed on where the other woman had disappeared. Not for any particular reason, Data thought. Just because that was where her head had fallen.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She stood, a sharp jolt that had him tipping his head back to follow her. “Fine. Sorry.” She shook her head. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be here.”

“Tasha-“

She held up a hand. “It’s alright. I just…need a walk. I…I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Would you like me to stop by after my shift?”

“Sure. Yeah. That’d be nice.” She was already backing towards the turbolift, up the ramp and out of sight. Data watched her go, and then sat back in the captain’s chair again. He was still holding the PADD, he realized. He read it. He made it all the way to the bottom before he realized none of the data had been registered by his processors. He read it again.

Tasha had been put up in guest quarters until they received instructions on what to do with her, but when Data went looking she was not in the quarters assigned. He found her in the shuttle bay, aboard the _Enterprise_.

She opened the hatch when he knocked. “Hey. Come on in.”

“Were the quarters not to your satisfaction?”

She shook her head, pulling a face. “They’re too big.”

“Too big?”

She closed the hatch behind him, folding down onto the floor with an ease that suggested she had been laying there before he arrived. “I’m pretty sure the captain was the only person who got his own room on the _Enterprise_ in my time. We had thousands of soldiers to transport. Space was a luxury.”

“You were never aboard the _Enterprise_.”

“I remember it, though. Besides, Tasha got used to having you in her bunk.”

“I did not have my own?”

“You didn’t exactly need one.” She propped her chin on her hand. “That doesn’t seem right, does it?”

Data considered. “You said it was war. It would be practical to conserve resources.”

“Still.”

They were quiet for a while. Data folded his legs, crossing them and resting his hands on his knees. It was different from sitting with the real Tasha, before her death. They had been close, Data thought, after a fashion. But Tasha had never seemed completely at ease when they were alone. Data expected it had something to do with the polywater incident, which had never come up again. Now, with new knowledge, Data wondered if that assumption was accurate, but not in the way he had anticipated.

She was the one to break the silence, and when she did it was accompanied by her collapsing all the way back to the floor, staring at the low ceiling, one arm thrown back to run her fingers through her hair. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“My shift is over.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Data watched her muss the blonde locks. “You were distressed when you left,” he said. “I wanted to…check up on you. Is that not appropriate?”

“No!” She jolted upright, hands slapping the ground. Data blinked at the outburst. “It’s not alright!” she continued. “None of this is ‘appropriate’!”

“Tasha-“

“Don’t!” She held up a finger, shaking her head. “Don’t call me that.”

“You said-“

“Yeah, well, now I’m saying something else.” She carded through her hair again, although this time the action looked more frantic, as if seeking an anchor. Data sat back, his mouth obediently shut. He waited for her to speak again.

Finally, she sighed, dropping her head into her hands. “I could have been happy.”

“Happy?”

“Being stupid. Ignorant.”

“I do not understand.”

She snorted, but the humor in the sound was twisted. “Me either.” She visibly swallowed, like she was trying to steady herself. “It was nice. Wanting to be here. Wanting to want you. I could have stayed like that. But god, you’re right, this whole thing is fucked up.”

“That is not precisely what I said.”

She laughed. Data couldn’t tell if it was at him or something else. “No, it’s not. But it’s what you meant.” She looked up at him. Her eyes were very blue. Upon consulting his memory banks, Data couldn’t determine that Tasha’s eyes had ever been quite so bright a shade. “I hate it,” she said. Her voice pitched low. “I hate remembering. I keep catching myself, in my head, thinking like I’m her, but I’m really not, am I? I’m something she made, a thing she put together so she could have another chance with you.”

“You are not a thing,” Data told her. “You are a person.”

“But I wasn’t supposed to be. Not really.” She bit her lip, worrying at the bioplast skin. “Why would she do that? Why would she do that to me?”

Data didn’t have an answer. After all, he had asked the question first. He offered, “You do not have to be her.”

“I don’t know what else to be.”

Silence fell again. Data searched his databanks for advice, but came up empty.

“Nat.”

He looked at her, head tilted, and she repeated it. “You could call me Nat.”

“Another diminutive of Natasha.”

“Tasha never…she was never really called Natasha. She doesn’t have any connection to the first part of the name.” Nat drew her knees to her chest, hugging them. “I could use it.”

“It is a lovely name.”

“You think so?”

Data nodded, and Nat smiled. She swept her fingers over her cheek, just below her eyes, and in the low light Data noted the glint of liquid. She had been crying. Hardly enough to notice, but the tears were there. He reached out, perhaps to help, or simply to feel the proof on his fingertips, but Nat startled and jerked away.

“Don’t,” she said softly.

“I apologize.”

She laughed, a high, sad sound. “Why do you have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Be sweet.” She pursed her lips, brow furrowing in sorrow as she looked at him. “You make it so hard not to love you.”

“I am not trying.” There was something in Data’s chest. That weight again, settling there, heavy and lukewarm.

“That’s the worst part.” She was smiling, but it wasn’t a happy expression. “It’d be easier to hate you if you were trying.”

Data stiffened. “I do not want you to hate me.”

She looked away. “I don’t know what I want. I just know I don’t want you.”

“Would you like me to leave?”

She started to speak, and then stopped herself. “I think I’d like to be alone for a little while,” she said eventually. “I need to think.”

“Very well.” Data stood. The door hissed open, and halfway through it he looked back. “Would you object to my visiting you again?”

“I’ll call you.” There was pain in the twist of her lips, but also a hint of a smile at the joke. “Probably best if the strange android isn’t left alone too long. Who knows what trouble I could get up to?”

“I will await your call,” Data told her. He did not say that security would be looking after her, regardless of her contact with him. Data didn’t always understand humor, but he was fairly confident she was being facetious. He turned before he could see her expression change again, striding out of the shuttle bay without looking back. The compulsion to turn was there, but he did not give in.


	4. Chapter Three

Data and Geordi both looked up when Ten Forward’s doors opened, admitting Riker. Their first officer moved with determination, but when he caught their gaze he shook his head, pausing only momentarily to speak to Guinan before he approached their table, slinging his leg over the chair to take his seat. “Still no word from Starfleet.”

“We should not expect a quick reply,” Worf pointed out. He glanced up from his drink. “It would take well over a day for any message to reach them from our current position, and the same length of time to respond.”

“And that’s assuming they don’t spend weeks debating the best course of action,” Geordi finished, nodding. “Still,” he took a sip of his drink. “I hate the waiting.”

Riker laced his hands on the table, leaning into his arms as he looked to Data. “Reports indicate she hasn’t left her quarters in the last forty-eight hours. Has she said anything to you?”

“Not since we spoke two days ago,” Data told him. It was strange. He had told her he would wait for her call, and his sense of time was permanently fixed. Regardless, he had found himself anticipating the message, and increasingly expectant of its arrival.

“You said she wants to be called Nat now?” Riker pressed. “Instead of Tasha?”

Data nodded. “Nat has rejected the Tasha identity she was programmed to exhibit. While she still possesses the memories, and her programming is largely reflective of Tasha’s personality and behavioral responses, Nat seems to have chosen not to identify as Tasha specifically. She is having trouble, as I did, comprehending how Tasha could create her the way she did.”

“Well, that’ll make some things easier, at least.” Riker leaned back in his chair, nodding in appreciation as Guinan delivered his drink.

Data cocked his head, frowning. “In what way would things be ‘easier’?”

“Emotionally, Data,” Geordi said. He set his glass down. “The less like Tasha she is, the less it’ll feel…awkward, for those of us who were close with her.”

“I see.” Data considered this. “It is awkward, because Tasha is dead, and you therefore do not view Nat, who is an artificial facsimile, as equally genuine, reviving traumatic emotions like grief without providing any of the emotional satisfactions of closure.”

Geordi coughed, hiding a laugh. “Something like that, Data.”

Worf growled, low in his throat, and folded his arms. Riker shot him a look, and then said, “A lot of us grieved Tasha. It’s just not easy, seeing an android trying to take her place.”

“Is that not what I said?”

The corner of Riker’s mouth twitched into a smile.

“It’s not specifically that she’s an android,” Geordi put in. “It would be hard no matter what was trying to replace her. Starfleet’s had records of duplicate officers before. Transporter malfunctions, cloning. Humans just aren’t comfortable trying to examine what makes a person who they are. Doppelgangers make things harder.”

“Yet you do not react so harshly to identical siblings. Twins and triplets, for example.”

“In those cases, there are multiple individuals to begin with,” Riker pointed out. “They might look the same, but they’re different people.”

“And that is why Nat no longer identifying as Tasha is ‘easier’?” Data asked. “Because, although they still look alike, they now could be considered separate individuals?”

“Exactly.”

Worf was still quiet, although Data could see the way his lip had curled. As Riker turned to Geordi, the two sliding easily into a change of conversation about the warp coils, Data addressed the Klingon. “Do you agree with Riker and Geordi’s statements?”

“It does not matter,” Worf said. He refused to meet Data’s eyes, staring beyond the table to the far wall of Ten Forward. “The android is not Tasha. Lieutenant Yar’s qa’yIn has left our physical existence. It cannot be returned, and it is a mockery to pretend otherwise.”

Data blinked. Worf glanced at him, and the Klingon softened almost imperceptibly. His voice was still rough, but less harsh when he amended, “If this…being has decided to forge her own path, that is an honorable decision. It is one thing to emulate a great warrior. It is another entirely to claim to be them.”

“She does not claim to be Tasha,” Data said. “Not anymore.”

Worf gave a put-upon, indignant huff, but appeared to be for show. Data’s combadge beeped. “Nat to Data.”

He touched it. “Data here.”

“Could you come by my quarters when you have a minute?”

“I have several now.” Data stood, addressing the group. “I will see you later.”

“Have fun,” Geordi told him, a hint of a grin dancing across his face. It was not reflected on Riker’s, whose expression edged towards wary, although he said nothing.

Data nodded farewell to the others and exited the bar, heading in the direction of the guest quarters. The door slid open at the chime, and Nat’s voice floated out from the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Data stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him, and looked around. It was typical of Starfleet guest quarters, at least on a starship this size, sparsely decorated but reasonably homey. Designed for comfort, at least for a short while. Through a doorway, Data could see the bedroom. The bedclothes were rumpled, shoved back. Data tried to picture Nat sleeping, but found it difficult to imagine. He certainly couldn’t imagine Tasha leaving her quarters with anything less than a perfectly made bed. The rest of the quarters reflected the same, clean but slightly askew. The boots were on their sides by the door and the yellow and black tunic Data had seen before hung haphazardly from the arm of the sofa, the slacks pooled on the floor beneath.

He turned as swearing came from the open bathroom door, followed by Nat calling, “Can you come help me with this?”

Hesitantly, his modesty program flashing in the background of his mind, Data approached, relaxing as he caught Nat’s reflection in the mirror. She was fully clothed, in a modest blue dress with darker sashes. It hung past her knees, drawing Data’s attention down to her bare feet before they returned to her face. She was looking at him expectantly, and holding out a hairpin. Her blonde hair, previously cropped shorter than even his own dark locks, now hung, half-pinned, around her cheeks and jaw. It was by no means the elaborate curls of Counselor Troi, or even the straight but shoulder-length look the doctor sported, but it was longer than Data had ever seen on Tasha. Which, he supposed, was the point.

As if reading his thoughts, Nat smiled, looking a touch embarrassed. “I wanted a change. What do you think?”

He took the hairpin, nudging her gently so she turned, allowing him access to the mess of braids at the nape of her neck. He began twisting them up into a shape he could pin. “It is different.”

“It feels a little funny,” she admitted. “Tasha wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this.”

“I have seen her in a dress.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “She was under the influence of a mind-altering substance. I do not think she would have felt comfortable had she been sober.”

Nat nodded, and Data saw her flush in the mirror when he gripped her head lightly to still it. “That sounds about right,” she said. “I figured, I can make my hair however long I want, you know? I didn’t want to go crazy, but I like it like this. You can do more with it.”

“It is aesthetically pleasing,” Data agreed. It looked nice short, but Data couldn’t help thinking irrationally that it had looked better on Tasha. On Nat, the braided updo seemed appropriate. He set the last pin in place and stepped back. “How is that?”

She twisted, touching one hand to her hair as she examined it in the mirror, tracing the wave in the front all the way to the braids in the back. “Thanks. I couldn’t get the damn thing to stay put on my own.”

“You will improve with practice.”

She smiled, and then gestured him out into the sitting area. “I didn’t just call you over to help do my hair.”

He took a seat on her sofa, and she took the adjacent chair. He suspected a human might be offended at the distance, but it was understandable. Nat folded her hands in her lap, staring down at them. She appeared to have lost her nerve.

Quietly, Data offered, “We have been examining the emotion chip. It will likely be some time before Geordi and I complete a full diagnostic to the captain’s satisfaction, but it appears to be genuine.”

“I told you it was.”

“But you understand our skepticism?”

She nodded. Data fell silent, waiting for her to speak. It stretched, and then released on a soft breath from Nat. “I actually was hoping you and Geordi could do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I want you to delete my love subroutines.”

Data stiffened, sitting back. “I do not know that we are capable of that.”

“Please,” she said. She looked up, meeting his eyes. Her hands were fists in her lap. “Can you at least try?”

“This is because of me, correct?” Data clasped his hands. It was a very human gesture. “Would it be accurate to infer that you don’t intend to deactivate your ability to feel love altogether, but simply the algorithms that compel you to feel it for me?”

“No offense,” she told him. Her leg was bouncing again. She pressed it down with a hand. “You’re sweet, Data. And I appreciate you giving me space when I asked for it. But it didn’t make things any better. It made it worse.”

“Because you missed me.”

“Because I missed you,” she nodded. She pressed a fist over her heart. “It _hurt_. I kept wondering if you hated me, how it would feel if you turned me over to Starfleet Command and I never saw you again.”

“I do not hate you, Nat. And even when we hear back from Starfleet Command, assuming their intention is not to allow you to remain, I would hope that they would allow me time to say goodbye.”

“I…appreciate it,” Nat said, “but that’s not the point.” She took a breath, allowing her hands to return to her lap. “I don’t want to feel like that right now. Not for you.”

“Because you do not like me.”

“I don’t know you, Data. I’ve never met you!” Nat threw her hands up, then rubbed at her forehead. “I’ve got plenty of memories of you, but they’re not my memories. They’re not even of _you_ , the way you are now, in this timeline. That’s not fair. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to you, and I want it to stop.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t even want to. He reached out, and then thought better of it. Nat wasn’t human, like his friends. He did not know if she would welcome the touch. Instead, he said, “I will speak to Geordi. I cannot promise we will be able to alter the coding you desire, given that our experience is limited to working with my own, and even that is lacking. But, if he agrees, we will try.”

To his surprise, she met him halfway, covering his hand with her own. “Thank you, Data. That’s all I’m asking.”

Geordi looked skeptical when Data approached him in Engineering the following day on a break. He folded his arms, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know, Data. Soong’s programming is sophisticated. I can follow it well enough, but to actually try to alter it? I’m not sure I can do that.”

“But you would have my help,” Data pointed out. “I have studied cybernetics extensively. And we have had some success making adjustments to my programming before.”

“Yeah, _minor_ adjustments, to programs that were pretty straightforward. She’s asking us to modify her ability to _love_. That’s a completely different ballgame.”

Data frowned, but Geordi cut him off before he could ask the question. “A figure of speech. Meaning, it’s a completely different problem, and I don’t know the rules.”

“Is that your only reason for objecting?”

Geordi hesitated. Data cocked his head, waiting. Finally, Geordi huffed a laugh. “Alright, you win. We’ll take a look. A _look,_ ” he repeated, pointing a finger. “That’s all. If I don’t like what I see, we don’t go through with any kind of procedure.” He gave Data a curious look. “Why do you want my help, anyway? You could probably do this one on your own. You’re better with cybernetics than I am, anyway.”

It was true. When working with his own positronic net, Data sought his friend’s help for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the need for a second pair of hands to do the work he couldn’t reach on his own. It was more efficient, and less risky. But they both had the training. Nat did not.

And it was more than that. But, for once, Data chose to be concise. “It is possible I could achieve results on my own. But I trust you, Geordi. Because we are dealing in emotional programming, I trust your judgement perhaps more than my own. I would be more comfortable with your assistance.”

Geordi smiled. He reached out, slapping Data’s arm affectionately. “Alright. Bring her by after the shift’s over, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Geordi.”

“Don’t mention it.”


	5. Chapter Four

“Picard to Data. May I see you in my ready room?”

Data glanced between Geordi and Nat, then down at the diagnostic tools in his hands. He set them aside and responded, “May I have a few minutes, Captain? I am in the middle of something.”

“Very well. Picard out.”

“We’re almost done here anyway,” Geordi said. The computer beeped as he input a few more commands. “We’ve gotten a good look at the pathways, and I think it’s doable.”

Nat twisted to look at him, her face lighting up. “You do?”

Geordi nodded. “It looks like a fairly simple matter of deleting the connections between your emotion program and Data. We’ll have to be careful about it, but once the pre-existing connections are removed, new ones should form organically.”

“Theoretically, you will recall all of our encounters,” Data told her, “but you will no longer have the compulsion to love me. However, we cannot determine what you will feel for me, if anything.”

“There’s also the risk that, if something goes wrong, your emotional coding could be messed up, maybe for good,” Geordi added. “We’ll do our best, but there’s still a chance.”

Nat shook her head, the wires hooked into her access ports swaying gently with the motion. “That’s fine. I’m alright with that. With all of it.”

“Might be a couple days before we have the time,” Geordi cautioned. “The captain has us doing a complete overhaul of the Engineering systems. I’ll take another look at my schedule, and see when I’ll be free. I don’t want to rush this.”

Data began removing the wires, taking care not to pull hard. It was an unusual compulsion; he knew he did not feel it when he was the one plugged into the computer, and yet he still felt the need to be gentle. He closed the access port, smoothing Nat’s hair down over it. “You should return to your quarters. I will speak to the captain.”

“I think I’ll stay here a minute, if that’s alright.” She glanced at Geordi. “I’d like to see the diagnostics you ran.”

“Sure thing.” Geordi beckoned her over to the terminal. “We’ll see you later, Data.”

Data nodded, accepting the dismissal, and made his way to the turbolift.

Captain Picard was behind his desk when Data entered the ready room, and he set aside a PADD with a sharp click against the surface. “Mr. Data, have a seat.” His voice too was sharp, and Data sat, uncertain.

“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Captain?”

Picard sighed. His expression, while not truly thunderous, was irate. “Mr. Data, I should hope I don’t need to stress to you, of all people, the importance of the chain of command.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Then what’s this I hear about you and Mr. LaForge… _altering_ the android to new specifications? Without, I must add, the approval of Starfleet Command.”

Data blinked at him. “You are objecting to the time we are spending with Nat.”

“It is not the time that I am objecting to. If the android wants to change her name, or her hair, or any other physical features, I don’t see any reason to stop her, but it is my understanding that you and Commander LaForge are attempting to alter her programming without consent!”

“We have Nat’s consent, sir-“

“I’m not talking about Nat!” Picard’s hands came down, hard, against the table, and Data startled. He looked down at them, then up at Picard, who sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stood, crossing the room to the replicator. “Tea, Earl Grey, hot.” Cup in hand, he turned back to Data. “It is not a question of whether or not the android agrees to the procedure.”

“She asked for it, sir. Geordi and I-“

“Dammit, Data, it’s not about that! Starfleet Command has confirmed they’ve received our report, and we are to do _nothing_ to or with the android before we hear what they’ve decided to do about it.”

Slowly, Data stood. He kept his hands on the back of the chair. “Captain, may I make a statement?”

That appeared to catch out some of Picard’s ire, and the captain settled a little. “By all means, Mr. Data, I’m listening.”

“Sir, you fought Starfleet for my rights to autonomy. You argued for my sentience, and won.” He hesitated. “I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but it occurs to me that by continually referring to Nat as ‘the android,’ one could infer that you do not consider her equally sentient, or worthy of those rights.”

Picard opened his mouth, and then looked at the ground. Data wasn’t finished. He pressed forward with care. “Nat has asked Geordi and me to remove a piece of her programming, one which limits her abilities to choose a path for herself. It is a personal choice, and one which Starfleet should, by legal precedent, not have any concerns over. I am not required to report to you every time I make an update to my program. I do not see why this is any different. Would you ask Commander Riker to inform you if he decided to make changes to his personal life? Would you ask Counselor Troi? Or would you trust that, were it relevant, they would come to you?”

Picard was nodding, slowly. He sat down again, wrapping both his hands around his mug. “Those are…valid points, Commander. I apologize.”

“Apologies are unnecessary.” Data sat again as well. “I understand that Starfleet may have concerns. Nat is the first stable Soong-type android we have found, other than myself. It is an opportunity to gain a better grasp of cybernetics, the same cybernetics that allow me to function in a sentient capacity. However, that does not mean she does not have certain freedoms.” He paused. “Does it?”

Picard did look chastened. Data hoped his statements hadn’t been too harsh. “No,” the captain said at length. “It doesn’t. Nat should, under Federation law, have certain rights as an individual.” He sighed. “These are murky waters, Mr. Data. Starfleet may still object to the procedure.”

“Are you prohibiting Command LaForge and I from performing it, Captain?”

“No.” Picard sat back, shaking his head. “No, I am not. And if Starfleet does have any objections, I will remind them that according to the current interpretation of Federation law, they have no right to order, or prohibit, any experimental procedures of this kind for _any_ of its citizens, androids included.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Picard inclined his head, but he still looked troubled. “Murky waters,” he repeated. “And I expect they’ll get murkier still.” He looked up. “You’re dismissed.”

Data nodded in acknowledgement, but he was still considering the captain’s words after he left the ready room, and then the bridge.

Nat met him at the door of her quarters when he stopped by, greeting him with a smile as she let him in. “Have you and Geordi worked out a plan?”

“We have,” Data told her, blinking as he scanned the room, first absently and then with intent as he registered that the moveable furniture had all been pushed to the center, draped over with a heavy blanket. His words were more stilted as he finished, “We should both be available at 0600, two days from now, if that is acceptable for you.” He angled his head. “What is that?”

Nat blushed. “Well, I tried sleeping in the bed. It…wasn’t really working for me.” She pushed back a flap of the blanket, revealing what appeared to be a nest of pillows and sheets in the darkness beneath. “I didn’t think Security would take too kindly to me spending every night in the shuttle bay, so I figured this was the next best thing.”

“You do not require sleep,” Data pointed out. “You could choose to not do it at all.”

A smile quirked her lips. “Sure. But that’s not as much fun.”

“Fun?”

“Your dream program isn’t active yet. You’ll see. A few nightmares are worth the rest.”

Data believed he registered the joke, a double entendre, but he didn’t mention it, in case he was wrong. Instead, he knelt, examining the structure. It did look cozy, probably more so for an android, who would not necessarily mind the hard floor. “You do not worry that it will collapse on you?”

“Nah.” She shook her head. She’d taken her hair down, and it still held light curls from the braids, bouncing around her ears. “So, early morning two days from now? I can do that.” She sat next to him, cross-legged. “Is that what the captain wanted to talk to you about?”

“How did you know?”

“Tasha was the chief security officer on the _Enterprise_ ,” Nat reminded him. She tapped her temple. “I know what a security risk I look like. Did he shut us down?”

“No. I was able to change his mind. But he does want us to be aware that Starfleet will likely be displeased.”

Nat’s lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at the floor. “Starfleet was important to Tasha. They gave her everything. I wonder how she’d feel, knowing I was going against their wishes.”

“Do you believe it matters?”

Nat gave him a long look. She shook her head. “No. It doesn’t.” She leaned back, propping herself up on her hands. “It’s getting late. Are you working a double shift?”

“Tonight, I am not. Was that something my counterpart did frequently as well?”

“Data worked _all_ the shifts. Well, most of them.” She shrugged one shoulder, and although she was smiling, there was an unhappy edge to the expression. “Another wartime resource. What do you do instead? Since you don’t sleep.”

“Tonight, I am participating in a musical recital.”

Her eyes widened. “You play an instrument?”

“The violin, predominantly. However, I am also versed in the oboe, and could theoretically play any instrument, by mimicking the playing styles of various musicians.”

“So why the violin?” She tipped her head to one side. “I mean, if it’s just a matter of mimicry, why choose just one?”

Data hesitated. She was looking at him expectantly. The question, he realized, had been baiting him. There was amusement in her expression. He answered truthfully, the simple explanation that he had not given even his captain when asked. “I chose the violin because of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Friend of yours?”

“A character from classic literature that I admire. He plays the violin.” He paused, and then admitted, “Although I am technically proficient in many musical styles, I am still attempting find my own…personal flair. I have been told I play too mechanically, that it lacks…soul.”

Nat made a face. “That’s rude. They shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“They were correct. But I am confident I will be able to one day achieve a performance with more individuality.” Data stood, offering her his hand. “I must go now, if I want to be ready in time, but you are welcome to join me.”

She accepted the gesture, allowing Data to pull her to her feet. “Another time, okay? I’d like to hear you play. Just not tonight.”

“Is it impolite to inquire why?”

Nat smiled. “ _Goodnight,_ Data.”

He took her cue. “Goodnight, Nat.”

As he was leaving, she called, “Good luck at your recital!”

“Luck is immaterial,” he called back over the threshold. “But thank you.”

It was a good recital, Data thought. He liked it best when the captain or Geordi were able to attend, but as both were tied up elsewhere, the turnout was acceptable. He did not spend much time with the other members of the quartet outside of the occasional group practice, but they greeted him amicably when he joined them outside Ten Forward, and were equally polite wishing him goodnight after the concert was over. He was not bothered by the lack of over familiarity. To have anyone accept his partition in social activities in any capacity was still a novel experience, one he had not benefited from prior to his posting on the _Enterprise_. He returned to his quarters in good spirits, and returned the violin to its place of pride. He glanced towards his small bookshelf reflectively. It was rare he had a full night off, to do with as he wished. He had replicated a series of books, the complete collection of Conan Doyle’s works. It had been several months since he had read any of them, and although he could technically consume them all in a single sitting, or recite their text from memory, Captain Picard had discussed with Data recently the value of slowing down, of _savoring_ a piece of art in its natural form.

He selected his favorite from the shelf and settled on the sofa, opening to the first chapter and committing himself to not skimming ahead.

Nat beat them to Engineering two days later, as promised. Data was always punctual as a rule, but even when he arrived a few minutes early for the meeting, Nat was sitting at one of the control panels, her legs kicked out in front of her, waiting.

Data greeted her as he approached, and she pulled her legs in, negating the tripping hazard before Data could point it out. She seemed jittery – if she had been human, Data might have described her as ‘caffeinated.’ He settled for saying, “You appear anxious to begin the procedure.”

She didn’t deny it. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner my mind is my own.”

“We are just negating one set of pathways,” Data reminded her. “The rest of your programming will remain unchanged.”

“I know.”

Before Data could offer further observations, Geordi joined them, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, looks like you two beat me to it. Nat, you ready for this?”

“Ready and waiting.”

He grinned, nudging Data. “Well, let’s get to work, then.” He passed Nat the connectors, and she reached back and popped open her access port.

“Allow me.” At his words, Nat handed Data the cables, straightening her back in her seat as he plugged them in.

On the other end, Geordi connected them to the computer. “Last chance to change your mind, Nat. Once we start this, it’s going to be pretty close to impossible to reverse it.”

“Fine by me,” she said. She glanced at Data, offering a sympathetic smile. He wondered if he ought to look away. “You sure you’re good to do this?” she asked him. “I mean, it does affect you, too.”

“I am sure,” Data said. He double-checked the connection, and then stepped back, meeting her gaze fully. “You were correct when you indicated that we do not know each other. Although I would like to get to know you, it would be better if that experience is not tainted by emotions given to you against your will.”

“Some people might take advantage of a woman made to love them.”

“Consider it my way of correcting a mistake,” Data told her, and at her questioning look said, “A story for another time.” He had promised never to tell, but he had half-broken it once already, and if anyone could be trusted with the knowledge, it was Nat. He moved to Geordi’s side. “We will have to turn off your higher command functions while we make the changes. Are you prepared?”

“Go for it.” She lifted her chin, and Data nodded to Geordi, who input the command.

It took the better part of two hours to make sure the disconnections were clean. Doctor’s Soong’s work with emotional programming was astonishingly complex, and separating out the specific subroutines in order to sever them without disrupting any other functions was a painstaking job, each double-checking the other’s work at every stage of the process. When they were both finally satisfied, Geordi nodded to Data, who returned to Nat’s side, moving to be level with her. Geordi reactivated her higher command functions, and Data touched her arm lightly as Nat blinked once, then twice. She tilted her head, eyes unfocused.

“Nat?” Data said quietly. “How do you feel?”

Another blink, and then the stiffness bled from her body, melting back into her more natural pose. She rolled her shoulders, then her neck, as if trying to crack the joints. Then she looked up at him. Data registered a micro expression of concern before that too bled away, and Nat smiled.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hello.” Data cocked his head. “Was the procedure successful?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“And you feel…?”

“Grateful,” she said. She turned back to look at Geordi. “To both of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Geordi told her. He disconnected her from the computer, and Nat reached up to pull the wires from her head herself. Data thought to offer, but kept silent.

She glanced back at him again. “Funny.”

“What is?”

“Well, I don’t love you. The pull is gone. But…I guess I thought I’d feel nothing.”

Data blinked. His eyes flicked to Geordi, who gave him half a shrug, and then back to Nat. “But you do not feel nothing?”

“No. I definitely feel something.” The grin came back, first at the corners of her mouth and then across her whole face. “You’re going to have to tell me about that mistake sometime, you know.”

“Then you would like to continue our acquaintance?”

She nodded. “You said you’d like to get to know me better. I’d like that too. As friends.”

Data typically would have said that he did not experience hope. It was an emotion, after all, and certainly one of the more intangible ones. But there was a sense of…expectation inside him. Anticipation, perhaps. It was not precisely the same, he thought, but it was there all the same.


	6. Chapter Five

“Data, can I have a minute?” Deanna called to him from halfway down the corridor, and Data held out a hand to stall the turbolift long enough for her to join him. She caught her breath as it began to move, and smiled at him. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you much the past couple of days.”

“Apart from the time we attend the bridge together, I have been occupied.”

“With Nat.”

“Yes.”

The turbolift hummed to a stop. Data paused, and Deanna indicated for him to go out, following after. “How is she?”

“Our alteration of her subroutines was a success. She has spent much of the past two days ‘acquiring a taste of freedom.’” At Deanna’s incredulous expression, he added, “Those were her words. I am not certain if they were intended to be humorous. In between my other duties, I was able to accompany her on a tour of the ship.” It had taken several hours, much longer than traditional tours. With Picard’s permission, Nat had wanted to investigate the _Enterprise_ from top to bottom, and she’d seemed more than willing to let Data explain, in extensive detail, all he knew about the ship’s makeup and compliment.

“She seems to be getting quite comfortable here,” Deanna remarked.

Data thought of Nat’s reaction to the arboretum, how she’d laughed, amazed by all the flowers. “It is not the _Enterprise_ she is familiar with, from Tasha’s memories. But she does seem to have become…accustomed to it.”

Deanna stopped, and Data halted too, tilting his head. Deanna laced her fingers together. She looked concerned. “What about you, Data?”

He frowned. “What about me?”

She hesitated, wetting her lips, and then said slowly, “You seem to be…becoming accustomed yourself. To Nat’s presence.”

“I enjoy her company. I look forward to spending more time with her.” He hesitated. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” Deanna looked down at her hands before meeting his gaze again. “You and Tasha were close, before her death.”

“I believe so.”

“And Nat is, like you, a Soong-type android. In some ways, she could be considered your sister.”

“I do not see her as a sister,” Data put in. “Not in the way I saw Lore as my brother.”

“But she still means a great deal to you.”

“She does represent a part of myself that I have found no one else able to relate to.” Aside from his brother, but Lore had been…complicated. Not that Nat wasn’t, but the experience was not the same. This one, thus far, was more positive by several degrees.

Deanna smiled. It was small, and Data might have labeled it ‘professional.’ “It is wonderful you’ve had this opportunity, to get to know her. I only wonder what will happen when it’s time for her to leave.”

“Are you attempting to psycho-analyze me, counselor?”

Deanna laughed. “No, Data.” She hesitated, “Perhaps a little. It’s unlikely that Nat will be allowed to remain on board the _Enterprise_ , regardless of what Starfleet Command decides.”

“I am aware of that,” Data said. He inclined his head. “Do you believe I will have difficulty adjusting, after she is gone? I will remind you, I am an android-“

“I know, I know.” Deanna held up her hands. “But Nat has offered you something more than just her friendship.”

“She no longer loves me, counselor.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Deanna looked around, and Data automatically followed her gaze. The corridor was not empty, full of the expected smattering of personnel and occasional civilian, but none paid them any mind. Finally, Deanna said, “Nat offered you emotions, Data. Surely that must be tempting.”

“Our analysis of the chip is not yet complete.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you’ve thought about it.”

Data shook his head. “I have not. It seemed best to wait until we could determine the potential to use it first.” It was the truth, or near enough that Data didn’t think his statement was a lie. His thoughts had turned, more than once, to the emotions Nat had offered him. But once he had wrapped his mind around the idea that he could, perhaps even did, experience emotions, Data had consciously made an effort not to think about it. There was a human expression, ‘getting one’s hopes up,’ and he had not wanted to risk it.

Deanna looked a bit crestfallen, like she hadn’t expected that. She recovered quickly. “Well. I suppose that’s alright, then. I just thought, if you needed anything…”

“I will contact you,” Data assured her. “I am aware my connection with Nat is, perhaps, unconventional, but-”

“Not at all,” Deanna said. Her expression was affectionate. “She’s someone you can connect to, in ways that your other friends can’t. There’s nothing unconventional about that.”

“I will take your word for it, counselor,” Data said, “but in truth, even I am not sure what Nat means to me.” He nodded politely, and left her standing there. He did not look to see how long she stared after him.

His quarters were occupied when he entered them, and it momentarily brought him up short. Nat looked at him sheepishly, snatching the deerstalker from her head and returning it to its rightful place alongside his violin. “Sorry. You said I could drop by anytime.”

“I did assume you would do so when I was present,” Data told her, but he held no malice for the act, and doubted he would even if the emotion chip were installed. “I believe this act is referred to as ‘snooping.’ Was that your intent?”

She laughed, flushing faintly. “No. Not snooping, I promise.” She dropped into one of his chairs, slinging her arm over the back. “I was waiting for you, I swear. I was just curious.”

“About the deerstalker?”

“About you.” She gestured around. “I kind of expected to find standard Starfleet kit, like my room, but you’ve made it yours.”

“I have been told it lacks ‘creature comforts,’” Data said, taking a seat across from her. “You do not think it is too barren?”

“ _Barren?”_ She raised her eyebrows, lips quirking with mirth. “You’ve got books! Real books!”

“They are replicated.”

“ _Still_. And your violin, and those paintings-“

“I have been experimenting with different art forms. I am still not sure-“

“Those are _yours?_ ” Nat’s eyebrows shot higher, her eyes widening. She stood, crossing the room in long strides to examine one of his paintings in detail, her fingers hovering just off the canvas as she traced the lines. “I thought you’d just chosen them. You never said you painted.”

He joined her. “Captain Picard has encouraged me to explore art in many forms. Music, theater, painting. I have also considered attempting poetry, although I am not certain I am prepared to mimic such an emotional art form.” He indicated another canvas to her, this one still propped up on his easel and with only a few splotches of purple and blue on it. “This is my current work in progress.”

Nat studied it, her head cocked, her knuckles against her lips. “I don’t know anything about art,” she admitted sheepishly, glancing towards him. “I guess that’s something Tasha didn’t think I needed? It looks nice, though.”

“Thank you.”

She turned to him. “So. You play the violin-“

“And the oboe.”

“And the oboe. You paint. You act, yes?”

He nodded. “Under Captain Picard’s advisement. He favors classic Shakespearean dramas, and he has been very patient with my shortcomings.”

“Stop that.”

He frowned. “Stop what?”

She threw up her hands. “That! Talking like…like there’s something wrong with you.” She shook her head, jabbing at the completed painting with a finger. “There’s skill there, Data.”

“I am merely mimicking a form which I have studied.”

“But the idea for the picture was yours, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Or…” She cast her gaze about the room, then seized the violin, proffering it to him insistently. “You said you’d play for me. Anything you like.”

He obeyed, resting the instrument under his chin, and picked up the bow, dragging it along the strings to send out the first strains of _terfitilaya t’mazhyon,_ watching as Nat’s lips parted, sucking in a breath.

“That’s beautiful,” she murmured.

He lowered the violin. “It was designed for a Vulcan stringed instrument of similar construction.”

“It’s Vulcan?”

He nodded. “By a relatively unknown composer, T’Pral of Vulcan. I found it compelling, the way her work attempts to incorporate the sounds of natural phenomenon within the melody. This piece, for example, is based on the sandfires of the Vulcan deserts, sandstorms so violent that they cause lightning to strike the planet’s surface.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying!”

“I…do not follow.”

Nat looked frustrated. “You said you picked that piece because you found it compelling. I didn’t tell you to. And it’s not even for the same instrument! You would have had to translate it at least a little! That’s artistry, Data!”

“I do not think Captain Picard would agree.”

“Yeah, well…fuck him.”

Data blinked, and Nat dropped her gaze to the floor. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I know you respect him. Tasha respected him too. It’s just…” She looked up at him again, eyes widen and imploring. “I don’t get it, Data. You’re amazing. There are humans who don’t try half as hard as you do, and their work isn’t judged nearly as harsh. It’s not fair.”

Data set the violin back in its stand, laying the bow alongside it. “I appreciate your support, but there is something those artists have that I do not.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel emotion, Data,” Nat warned. “I don’t want to hear it.”

So, he did not say it. Instead, as he took a seat on the sofa, he said, “Counselor Troi spoke to me today.”

Nat joined him. “She seems nice. She spoke to me when I first came on board. We didn’t have her, in the other timeline.”

“I expect a ship’s counselor would have also been considered a luxury at war.” Data considered. “The counselor is empathic. She is capable of sensing emotions in the majority of species.”

Nat snorted. “Let me guess. Not in you?”

“No.”

“What about me?”

“I have not asked.” Data tilted his head. “When we spoke, she referred to us as being akin to siblings.”

Nat made a face. “Really?”

“It is not an inapt description. I considered Lore my brother, despite not remembering him, because of our shared features and creator.” Data paused. “Although you were also made by Doctor Soong, I realized that I have never thought of you as my sister.”

“And you’re definitely not my brother.” Nat leaned back, drawing her legs up onto the sofa and crossing them under her. “I don’t know, Data. I can’t explain why it’s different. I just know that it is.”

“I agree.”

“It would have been kind of fucked up, wouldn’t it? I mean, even more than it was.”

Data nodded. “It is possible your construction was designed with that in mind.”

Nat toyed with the fabric of the couch. It flexed under her fingers, and Data tracked the motion. Finally, she said, “I’m not sorry they made me, you know. Don’t get me wrong, part of me hates them a little for trying to control me, but overall…I’m glad I got this chance to live.”

“As am I.”

They looked at each other. Data considered averting his eyes – he knew this to be polite – but Nat seemed intent on him, so he did not. “I don’t know about this Starfleet,” Nat said after a minute, “but Tasha’s Starfleet wouldn’t hesitate to take me apart.”

“That will not happen here.”

“How do you know?”

“I have defended my own rights to Starfleet before,” Data said. “Based on that determination, I do not believe Starfleet can dismantle you without your consent.” To make up for the lack of certainty in the words, he added, “And the fact that we have yet to hear from them does suggest there is much debate as to where to go from here.”

Nat tipped her head back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “That should make me feel better, shouldn’t it?”

“But it does not?”

“Not really.” She sighed. “Do you know the feeling, where your body isn’t tired, but your mind is?”

“I do not.”

She shook her head. “It’s a terrible feeling.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She looked up at him hopefully. “Play the rest of that piece? The one about lightning sandstorms.”

“As you wish.” Data struck up the piece again, watching as Nat closed her eyes, reclining against his sofa. He made it through the full piece before he realized she was asleep. Data did not have a blanket on hand, and although he could have replicated one, he chose instead to cover her with his Holmesian coat, which was designed to be large even on him. It dwarfed her smaller frame as she snuggled subconsciously into it, tucking her chin into the fabric. Data removed her boots, a curious choice she still wore even with the dresses she now favored, and ensured her feet were covered as well. He did not know if she could get cold – he could register temperature changes, but he couldn’t really feel them the way humanoids did – but the gesture felt appropriate anyway. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had an appointment on the holodeck with Geordi, and it would have been rude to cancel.

He dimmed the lights before he left, and set the computer to play, in low tones, gentle violin music while he was gone.


	7. Chapter Six

“It’s legit,” Geordi said. His tone implied no surprise, if a little caution. “We kind of figured it would be, after seeing Nat, but we’ve definitely confirmed it. There’s a full range of human emotion in here, and then some.”

Picard did not look quite so enthusiastic. “And you didn’t find any…surprises, shall we say?”

“Nothing nefarious, anyway. We were pretty thorough.”

“The coding is very similar to Nat’s emotional coding,” Data explained. “When she first gave it to me, she told me it would build upon the functions I already possess. For example, tear ducts, or taste buds. I am already in possession of the hardware, it is simply a matter of upgrading their functions.”

Picard nodded, but his dour expression didn’t change. He leaned in, squinting at the station they stood around, the emotion chip held up like an offering. “It seems such a tiny thing, to be so complex.” He straightened up. “Thank you for the update, Mr. LaForge.”

“Of course, Captain.” Geordi set aside his PADD. “What about Starfleet? Any word?”

“Still nothing.” Picard sighed. “Bureaucracy at its finest. The only thing I’ve heard from them is to stay in the area. They don’t want us moving out too far, so they can have as easy access to us as possible. And they don’t want to assign us a new mission on the off chance that something goes wrong. They’re very invested in the- in Nat’s wellbeing.”

Privately, Data thought their concern was less for Nat’s wellbeing, and likely more for her assured continued existence. Perhaps it was unkind of him, but Data had little faith in bureaucrats. Even other humans tended to assume that they did not have their best interests at heart. “It is unsurprising, given the near-destruction of the _Enterprise_ when we encountered Lore, as well as the peril that we face on a regular basis, that Starfleet Command is skeptical of our ability to keep Nat safe.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing. Sitting still? Isn’t going to cut it for much longer,” Geordi said. “Everyone around here seems to be getting a little antsy.

The captain nodded in agreement. “I’ve noticed it too. Frankly, I don’t blame them. I’m sure most of the ship doesn’t see the need to be grounded, no matter how temporarily.” He sighed. “But I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon.” He beckoned Data with a finger, “A word, Mr. Data?”

Data followed him a few steps away, and bent his head close when Picard lowered his voice. “This…emotion chip, Data. What are your thoughts on it?”

“It is an impressive piece of cybernetic engineering, sir, and a unique opportunity for me to experience parts of humanity I have thus far been unable to grasp.”

“That’s true, yes,” Picard said. “But you should also consider that this is a shortcut. Are you certain it’s the path you want to take?”

Data blinked at him. “I am not certain of anything, sir. I have yet to consider the options available to me.” He paused. “Would you like me to inform you when I have made a decision?”

“It is…your prerogative, Mr. Data. I would…prefer to be notified, but the choice is ultimately yours.”

“Thank you, Captain. I will let you know.”

Nat was waiting for him in the arboretum, ship’s afternoon, and when he entered, she was talking quietly with one of the civilian botanists, Keiko Ishikawa, a bright young woman whom Data had formed a tentative friendship with. His specialty in exobiology had led him, upon learning the _Enterprise_ had an arboretum and with Captain Picard’s encouragement, to seek out the little sanctum of true nature, and Keiko had been more than eager to share what she had known with him. Plants were very different from people, of course, and he had found many gaps in his knowledge, but he suspected that had been part of what had endeared him to Keiko – his willingness to admit where he knew nothing. Regardless, she was one of the handful of people he had grown to consider a friend.

Both women lit up when they saw him, and Keiko gave him a little wave, then murmured something to Nat that made her blush and stammer inaudibly. Her hair was up again, although it was escaping from her hairpins in messy wisps, and she had added a short jacket of synthetic leather to the boots. Data found, unexpectedly, that they complimented her simple dress extremely well. Keiko had tucked a flower behind Nat’s ear, a white carnation.

Data had no explanation for his continued cataloguing of her clothing choices. He was forced to extrapolate that it was because he could not recall seeing Tasha out of uniform, save one occasion, that made him so interested in Nat’s attire.

She looked beautiful.

Keiko slipped away as he approached, and Nat grinned at him. “Hey.”

“I was not aware that you and Keiko were acquainted.”

Nat shrugged. “Not really? I met her the other day, and she seemed nice.” She touched the flower by her ear. “She says you’re pretty good friends.”

“I introduced her to her current romantic partner. And we are both scientists. We share certain fascinations.” He tilted his head. “What did she say to you, just now?”

“Nothing important.” Nat reached for him, looping her arm around his. “So. You wanted to meet here. Why?”

“You seemed to enjoy being here, on our tour.”

She nodded. “It’s nice. Reminds me a bit of Terlina III. Not quite so wild, of course, but that’s probably for the best.”

They strolled towards the center, where the pond was outlined with a circle of neat stones, the water clear and smooth. “Do you have fond memories of Terlina III?” Data asked.

“Yes and no. It’s strange…I have vague memories of my creation, of my functions being tested. I walked barefoot through the forest, and felt the sunlight streaming down on my face.” She closed her eyes briefly, tilting her chin up as if remembering the sensation. She continued, “I was in that jungle when I woke up. I was alone, confused. I was by my ship, in a clearing. In some ways, that’s my first memory. The trees all around me, the sound of the river in the distance.” They stopped by the edge of the pond, and Nat stared down at her reflection in the water. “It’s better than Tasha’s first memories. I guess I like it so much because the alternative is worse.” She looked up at him. “What about you? Your home planet was Omicron Theta, right?”

“It was. However, my memories of Omicron Theta are largely not my own,” Data admitted. “I have little sense of my creation, and I did not stay long on the planet’s surface when I was activated. My exposure was confined to a small outcropping of rocks. I do not think I hold any particular attachment to similar natural configurations.”

“But you have the colonist’s memories, right?”

“Not their memories. Just their logs. It does not…it is not the same.”

“No, probably not.” Nat leaned her head on his shoulder, and Data blinked at her. He had seen Deanna do this sometimes, with people she was close to, but it had never been done to him, spur of the moment like this. It was…not unpleasant.

After a minute, they picked up walking again, and Data told her, “We have finished analyzing the chip. We have deemed it safe.”

“I told you.” Nat nudged him, smiling faintly. “So, what are you going to do with it?”

“I have not made a decision yet.” Data paused, examining a bed of flowers he knew Keiko had been struggling with for the past several weeks. They appeared to be in good health.

Nat crouched next to him. “But you’re thinking about it?”

“Captain Picard called it a ‘shortcut’ in my development. Presumably he meant that, given the effort I have put into understanding humanity, it could seem like…cheating, to skip to the end.”

“It’s not cheating!” Nat said, indignant. “You’ve got the right to feel just as much as the rest of us!”

“That is true.” Data straightened up, offering Nat his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “But I find myself agreeing with him in some respects,” he continued. “My exploration of my humanity is very important to me. You could say it is a central part of my identity, and I have some…apprehensions, about the way this chip may alter that.”

“You’d still be you, Data,” Nat told him. She squeezed his arm. “I promise you that.”

“I am not certain. In the past, I have been under the influence of altering substances. I am not proud of my behavior.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Does this have anything to do with that mistake you made?”

“It does.”

“You said you’d tell me about it sometime. Now seems good.”

Data glanced around. They were not alone, and he shook his head. “Not here. It is…personal. I would prefer to discuss it in private.”

“My place, then. It’s closer.” As they headed that way, she added, “I honestly can’t imagine you doing anything all that bad. You’re always so nice to everyone. I’ve been looking over some of your mission reports. Even when you break the rules, you’re always trying to help someone.”

They reached her quarters, and the door locked behind them. Nat kicked off her boots and approached the replicator, materializing a glass of fruit punch for herself before she crawled into the fortress of furniture still set up in the middle of her floor. She thumped the ground with a hand, and Data climbed in after her. With the blankets down, the small space glowed a hazy orange. Nat straightened her legs, and in such close quarters they pressed into Data’s hip. She took a sip of her drink and looked to him expectantly. “So?”

“It is not something I have discussed before. I made a promise.”

Her eyes turned guarded. “But you’re telling me now?”

“I believe, under the circumstances, it is appropriate to share.” He looked down at her feet, the skin delicate and life-like. There was no visible seam where her ankle could disconnect from her leg. He thought to trace it, looking, but kept his hands by his sides. “You said you had been reviewing our mission logs. Did you review one for a mission, Stardate 41209?”

“Sure. Polywater intoxication. A good bit of the crew got-“ She cut herself off, eyes going wide. “You were infected?”

He nodded. “It should not have been possible. I am incapable of intoxication.”

“That’s…not strictly true.” She took another sip of her drink, hiding a guilty expression. “It probably tripped something in your circuits, that’s all. What happened?”

“Tasha made sexual advances towards me. I saw no reason to decline. Afterwards, she insisted that the occurrence did not happen, which I took to mean that it had been an unfavorable experience for her, and that I was not to speak of it to anyone else.” He swallowed, keeping his gaze firmly on the ground. “We did not speak of it again. Knowing Tasha’s history, the knowledge that I took advantage of her is…difficult, particularly because otherwise the experience was a positive one for myself. It was a kind of intimacy I had never achieved before. I do not think Tasha would have continued to be my friend, if she knew.”

“Oh, Data.”

There was anguish in Nat’s voice, enough that he looked up. She was clutching her glass with both hands, hugging it to her chest. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You were both drunk. I’m sure she knew that.”

“I should not have agreed to her request.”

“ _She_ asked _you!_ I know I’m not her, but I can’t imagine she’d be upset with you for that.” Nat reached out, touching his ankle. “Hey. That’s why you were so uncomfortable with the idea of me, isn’t it?”

“It is one of the reasons. As long as you were coded to love me, it would have been the same as the polywater intoxication. You could not truly consent. It would be remiss of me to take advantage of that, just as I took advantage of Tasha three years ago.”

“Data, the fact that you’re still so upset over it…that, if nothing else, should convince you that you’re a good person.” Nat squeezed his leg. “Having stronger emotions won’t change that. If anything, it’ll strengthen it.”

“Explain.”

“Your instinct is already to treat people with kindness, Data. Think about how much stronger that will be if you can feel guilt, regret.” She pressed a fist to her chest. “It hurts. Catches you right here and squeezes so hard you think you’ll die. It eats away inside you until you feel like there’s nothing left. It’s a horrible feeling.”

“Most people would not consider this is an appealing pitch for emotions.”

“But we’re not most people, are we?”

He regarded her. Her face was impassive, but far from unemotional. He could read concern in the corners of her lips, affection in the crinkles of her eyes. “No,” he said. “We are not.”

A smile bloomed across Nat’s face, but she caught and contained it at the last moment, pressing her lips together. Carefully, Data rested his hand on her ankle as well, feeling the smallness of the space between them in a way he had not before.


	8. Chapter Seven

Data waited outside the ready room, aware that from Tactical, Worf was pretending not to watch him. Riker made no such secret of his look, catching Data’s eyes and holding them, an unreadable expression on his face. Mere seconds after the chime, Picard’s customary “come!” echoed out, and Data stepped inside.

The captain looked up from his computer at his arrival, and gave him an easygoing smile. He turned off the terminal. “Mr. Data. Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

Data slid into the chair in front of the desk, resting his hands in his lap. “I told you, yesterday, that I would let you know when I had considered all my options with the emotion chip. I have considered them, sir.”

“I see.” Picard leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. He looked wary, but he was hiding it well, behind a mask of open interest.

Data nodded. “I was able to eliminate some options easily. There is too much potential in the work to destroy the chip. Even if I did not want it, Starfleet would likely wish to study it further. We do not know if Doctor Soong is still alive, or where he may be if he is, and it is unlikely we will find technology of this caliber from any other scientist in the near future.”

“That is very true, Data.”

“From there, it was less a matter of determining _if_ I would choose to implement the chip, and more a matter of when.” Data paused, scanning Picard’s expression for any signs of upset. When he found none, he said, “I have chosen, sir. With your permission, I would like to implement the chip now.”

Picard nodded. It was a slow motion, and it gave little away. He unfolded his hands, crossing his arms instead. “And you have given this matter a great deal of thought, I take it?”

“I have, sir.” Data hesitated, and then, compelled to explain, added, “It is not that I found your advice irrelevant. From your perspective, I see how the chip may seem like a ‘cheat,’ a way to circumvent the lessons of humanity I still must learn. This is not my intention. There are a great many things about humanity that I still do not understand, and I…I feel it would serve me better to use all of the tools at my disposal, emotions included.”

The captain smiled. “You clearly have thought this through, Data. Do not misunderstand me. I’m pleased you have this opportunity before you, and you do not require my permission to see it through. That being said, should you feel it necessary, I do give you my blessing.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do you have any idea when you’ll be undergoing the procedure?”

“I do not. I still have not spoken to Geordi about it, and I will require his assistance. Additionally…I would like to tell Nat, before I do.”

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear it.” Picard sat forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Emotions can be overwhelming, Data. I am not suggesting you reconsider, but I would advise you to be aware that these are particularly emotional times, for all of us. Nat’s situation remains uncertain, and I would prefer my second officer to remain…levelheaded, in the face of that uncertainty.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Picard nodded. “If that was all?”

“It was, sir.” Data stood. He paused. “Sir?”

“Yes, Data?”

“Speaking not as my captain and mentor, but as my friend, do you think my…attachment to Nat is unwise?”

Picard started to speak, and then stopped himself. He sat forward all the way, and the tone he took was conspiratorial. “I think, as your friend, that you should be aware. Just as love can be a balm, a source of soothing, it can also be a great pain. You have no experience with emotions, no ways, as our counselor Troi would say, to cope with the sensations. I think a great many of us are growing accustomed to Nat’s presence, but should that change…”

Data tilted his head, brow furrowing. “You believe I love her?”

“I think, in your own way, you already do. I cannot say whether it is familial, platonic, romantic…this is something you must determine yourself.” Picard smiled, and it was kind. “But yes, Data, I do think you love her. And I should not blame you for it. I think we all could grow to love her, given the chance, and she means something very special to you.”

There was a tightening in Data’s chest. He could not identify it as a malfunction. He nodded, stiffly. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Good luck, Mr. Data. Good luck.”

Data left the ready room. On the bridge, he paused. Worf snapped to attention, and then relaxed when Data did not offer anything. Riker spared him one last glance, nodded, and sat back down again.

His quarters were once again occupied when Data entered them, and Nat jumped, the item in her hands clattering against his computer terminal as she lost her grip on it. “I’m really not snooping, I swear,” she said.

Data approached her. “There is something I would like to discuss with you.” He stopped. Then he blinked. He looked up at Nat. “Why were you looking at this?”

Nat picked up the holophoto base. She activated it again. Her face clouded over, and she kept her eyes on the smiling figure of Tasha Yar when she said, “I was curious. You don’t keep any other holoimages.”

“As androids, we have perfect memories,” Data pointed out. “There is little need to keep a physical recording.”

“But you have this.”

Data took it from her. He set it on the terminal, but could not bring himself to turn it off. “Perhaps it is irrational,” he murmured. “After the funeral, I found myself…compelled to create it.”

“You loved her.”

“I do not know.” Data looked at her. “You said, in your original timeline, that I defined love as being unable to function properly without another person. I cared for Tasha, but I did not experience this. When she died, I was able to function.”

“There are different ways to feel love for people.”

“You identified your love for me as a ‘pull.’ A needing to be closer to me. Now that the compulsion is gone, is that still how you experience love?”

“I…don’t know.”

They stared at the image. It was simpler, Data thought, than examining Nat’s face. Picard’s words echoed back to him, but he did not speak them aloud.

“It is possible I loved Tasha,” he said. “It is possible I will, in some ways, always love her. As I said, as androids, we do have perfect memories. They will not fade. However…I do not believe I am _in love_ with her any longer, if I ever was. I have…moved on.” Data turned off the image, and it brought Nat’s eyes up to meet his. Hers were shining, he realized, slightly damp, and he marveled at the intensity of the feeling. “This version of Tasha no longer exists,” he said softly. “She is dead. I have…grieved for her. There is another, somewhere, perhaps still alive, perhaps dead now as well, but the Data she grieved for no longer exists, and she is a woman that I have never known.”

“Would you even…would you even be friends with me, if I didn’t look like her?”

Data’s brow furrowed. He cocked his head. “You do not look like her.” Surprise crossed Nat’s features, and he pressed on, “You look no more like Tasha than Lore looks like me. Less, in fact. You dress differently, confident in clothes Tasha would have felt discomfort wearing. You wear your hair longer, in styles uniquely suited to your personality. You hold yourself with a different bearing. I do not see Tasha when I look at you, Nat. I see only you.”

Nat’s mouth opened, and then shut again. Her eyes were huge, wide with shock. Suddenly she was moving, pushing out from behind the desk and around him, stammering as she went. “I…I have to go. I’m meeting Keiko in a few minutes, I should-“ And she was gone.

Data stared at the door as it shut behind her. He been told, when someone was upset, that sometimes they wanted you to go after them. Sometimes, they preferred to be left alone. There was no way to tell which was which.

Data picked up the holoimage and placed it back in the drawer, nestled between his medals and the book he’d been given by Captain Picard. He closed the drawer gently, and held there a moment, even after the click.

“Computer,” he said after a moment. “Locate Nat, please.”

He caught up with her in the arboretum, alone. She was sitting by the pond, the skirt of her dress flared around her legs, tugging her leather jacket tighter around her chest, as if clutching at it could hold her together. He approached slowly. “May I join you?”

She didn’t respond. He took a seat anyway, a respectful few feet away from her. “Keiko does not appear to be here yet.”

“I wasn’t supposed to meet her for another hour,” Nat admitted. She picked at the grass, plucking a few blades and twirling them between listless fingers.

“Then that was an excuse.”

Nat went silent. She flicked the grass into the pond. The surface rippled. Eventually, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do.” Nat took a deep breath, and let it out on a sigh. “It scared me, Data. I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“You are sitting with me.”

“I meant bigger than that. I’m not Tasha, I don’t _want_ to be Tasha, but if I’m not her…”

Data considered. “It was difficult for you. Being reminded that I cared for her.”

Nat shook her head. “It’s not that. I know you cared about Tasha. I got scared because…for a minute…I thought you might care about me.”

“I do.”

Her eyes flicked up, and then down again. Her fists tightened in the grass. “I know. And I…I care about you too. You’re my friend, Data. And part of me just wants to push you away, because how can you be my friend, really, if all I am is a shadow of her?” She laughed, low and humorless and aching. “I guess that’s one way we’re still alike. She was no good with feelings either.”

That was something Data could understand as well. But he tried. “You are not a shadow of Tasha, Nat. You are more than that.”

“I want to believe that. I want to believe that so badly it hurts.” She sniffled, blinking fast to push back tears. “But I don’t know how not to be her, Data. It’s who I was programmed to be.”

“Not anymore.” She looked up at him, and Data closed the space, just a little. A few inches, but it made a difference. “You have already begun to alter your programming,” he said. “Intentionally and not. Tasha did not give you the opportunity to choose, but after only a few weeks of life you are already rejecting that path.” He hesitated, and then said, “For years, I did little to attempt to exceed the boundaries of my programming. It was not until I met Captain Picard that I truly began to develop my personhood in a meaningful way. When you consider that curve, you are already well ahead of it.”

The statement forced a laugh out of her, soft and huffed, but still a beautiful sound. She wiped at her eyes. “You make some excellent points, counselor.”

Data smiled. “Perhaps you should speak to a real counselor. A psychological one.”

“She wouldn’t get it. Not like you do.”

“Counselor Troi may not be an android,” Data told her, “but she is more equipped than I am for dealing with emotions. You could at least consider it.”

“Alright.” She straightened up, sucking in a breath to clear her throat. “I’ll…consider it.” She rubbed her face, brushing back a few stray curls. “Before…before this, you said you wanted to discuss something with me?”

“I am taking your advice. I have decided to incorporate the emotion chip into my programming.”

“Data, that’s wonderful!” Her smile was genuine, even if it took a moment to reach her eyes, covering another micro-expression that Data could not fully analyze. She reached out for him, and Data leaned into the gesture. “What made you decide to go through with it?”

“My goal has always been to improve on myself. You have said that the chip will not fundamentally alter me, but will build upon what I already am. I find I…wish to experience that.” He offered her a small smile. “When I met my brother, I saw how unstable he was. Emotions had made him volatile. I was…concerned, that adding them to my programming in what I perceived as an artificial manner would result in the same effect in me. But, having seen you, I have…faith.”

She scooted closer, leaning into him, and Data relished the weight against his side. It was a comforting pressure. “I’m happy for you,” she murmured, but when Data looked at her, she was not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, one which led to nothing at all.

Geordi was less enthusiastic when Data approached him the following day. He kept his arms folded, lips pursed. “I don’t know, Data. This is a pretty big step. Do you really think you’re ready for it?”

“I do.” Data placed a hand on Geordi’s shoulder. “You are my best friend, and I trust you. Incorporating the chip is a fairly simple procedure, but I will need your assistance running the diagnostics once it connects with my system. I cannot guarantee how it will affect me.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Geordi said. “I mean, emotions? Doesn’t it sound a little too good to be true?”

“You analyzed the properties of the chip with me. Its programming is sound.”

“I know, I know.” Geordi looked away, them back to him. “I’m sorry. This probably isn’t the reaction you were hoping for, is it?”

Data tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I was hoping you would be happy for me.”

“I am. But I’m worried too.” Geordi gave him half a smile. “You’re gonna find out that a lot of feelings are like that. They don’t all just happen one at a time.”

“Then you will help me?”

“Of course.” Geordi gave him a friendly slap on the back, lingering for just a moment. “If this is what you really want, I want to do anything I can to help.”

“Thank you.”

Geordi rubbed his hands together. “Okay. When did you want to do this?”

“Captain Picard advised I wait, but I would prefer to do it as soon as-“

“Riker to Data and LaForge.”

Data and Geordi both stilled, and Data tapped his combadge. “We’re here, Commander.”

“We need you both in the observation lounge as soon as possible. The captain’s called a meeting. Starfleet Command has made their decision.”

“Understood, Commander,” Geordi said. “We’re on our way.” He glanced at Data, and the joviality was gone from his expression. “I don’t know about you, but that didn’t sound like good news.”

“I suggest we do as Commander Riker requested,” Data said. “We will find out for ourselves.” It was a good suggestion, but as they made their way to the turbolift and began their ascent, Data had to admit to himself that he had not made it for practical reasons. He had heard Riker’s voice, just as Geordi had. And although it was difficult to determine the reason, he had not sounded happy.


	9. Chapter Eight

At a standstill, the windows of the observation lounge looked more like a curtain, black fabric dotted through with sparkles of white and the occasional streak of color in the distance. When they were at warp, the movement of the stars relative to the ship entranced Data, stripes of light appearing and disappearing every second as they shot by, the illusion of rainbows refracting off the edges, constantly in motion. It gave an odd sense of purpose, of ‘going boldly,’ as Zefram Cochrane’s famous speeches had said, even when the mission was mundane. Now, there was little Data would have liked better than to see those stars in motion. It would have made up for the somber room.

Picard looked almost as grim as he had when Nat had first arrived on board, his hands clasped tightly together on top of the table. Of the assembled senior staff, Riker was the only one who appeared to have any insight into the captain’s mood; his expression was nearly as severe, and edged with something harder. The rest, Data had to conclude, knew nothing. He did not have to be a Betazoid to see the curiosity, the expectant eyes as they all took their seats, but it was undercut with something else, a hesitation. Either it was a reaction to the two most senior officers, or they had their own suspicions about why the meeting had been called and what news it would bring.

Picard cleared his throat, glancing around to make eye contact with each of them and finally lingering on Data. “Starfleet Command has made their decision.”

They waited.

Picard looked to Riker, who inclined his head slightly, and took over. “After apparently a great deal of debate, Starfleet has ruled that Nat should be turned over to them. We’re to set a course for the nearest starbase. Admiral Haftel will meet us there to take over. He’ll bring her back to Earth.”

“And then what?” Doctor Crusher asked softly.

“Then, she’ll be questioned by the scientists at Starfleet Headquarters,” Picard said. “She’ll be studied, as Data was, and presumably eventually released.”

“You do not sound certain,” Data said.

Eyes turned towards him, and then averted. Picard held his gaze. “I’m certain they will question her. I’m certain they will study her. Nat is a piece of technology more advanced than Starfleet has seen in decades. More advanced even than you. I don’t see why they _wouldn’t_ want to examine that.”

“But you are not certain they will let her go.”

Picard looked at the table. His knuckles were white. “The extent of your rights is still in dispute, Mr. Data, and Nat’s rights by extension. I suppose the question we should be asking is, did Starfleet Command see fit to let you go because you chose to join Starfleet, where they would be able to keep an eye on you, to benefit from your continued existence? If you had chosen a different path, if _Nat_ chooses a different path, is the outcome still the same?”

The room quieted again, and Data turned that over, analyzing the question. He could not find a solid conclusion. “Sir,” he said softly, “I must formally protest any course of action that could infringe on Nat’s potential freedoms. It would not be fair.”

“Your concern is noted,” Picard said. He sounded tired. He looked it too, his head tilting downward as if too heavy to keep it. The table appeared to be supporting most of his weight. “Unfortunately,” he said, “there’s little I can do. The orders are well over my head. Nat’s fate is in the hands of Admiral Haftel now.”

“Then we can petition him to change his mind,” Data said. “We can-“

“Data,” Riker broke in. His jaw was set, caught between regret and anger. “There’s nothing we can do right now. Maybe this is for the best. Nat isn’t a member of Starfleet. She couldn’t stay anyway.”

“That is not true,” Data pointed out. “There are a number of civilians working on the _Enterprise_. For example-“

“That’s enough,” Picard interrupted. “Data, you may bring your complaints to the Admiral, but my hands are tied. For all we know, this could be a good thing for Nat. A taste of the world away from the _Enterprise._ ”

Data wasn’t so sure. Leaving the _Enterprise_ might have been good for Nat – he could not say for sure – but the idea of turning her over to scientists who might or might not treat her with the dignity a sentient being deserved…“Have you told her yet, sir?”

“No.” Picard offered him a tight smile that did not reach his eyes. “I was hoping you would do the honors. You and Nat are very close, after all. And you would know, better than anyone, what she might be facing.”

“And if, when I tell her, she chooses to go against the wishes of Starfleet Command? She is in possession of a ship, and a great deal of tactical knowledge. She could choose to leave, and it would be very difficult to stop her.”

“If she chooses to leave, that is her choice. But she should know that Starfleet will make every effort to track her down.” Picard didn’t look particularly enthused by the idea. “It may even be that the _Enterprise_ is sent after her. I don’t think anyone will be particularly happy with that alternative.”

“I understand, sir.”

Picard nodded. “Good. Then you’re dismissed. Number One, I want us on course for the nearest starbase. Warp factor six.”

“Aye, sir.”

There was the motion of a number of people standing, of leaving the room. Data did not join it, instead remaining in his seat, even as Picard took his leave.

The captain paused in the doorframe. “I am sorry, Data.”

“You do not have to apologize, Captain. This was the most likely outcome.”

“Perhaps. But I’m sure it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I should tell you, Captain, that my allegiance is to Starfleet, and to you. However…” He trailed out, uncertain if it would be mutinous even to make the suggestion.

But Picard understood. He nodded. “Personal matters complicate things for all of us, Data. It’s very human.”

He left, and Data remained seated. He waited until the stars began to blur, a snap of light, and then a series of streaks across the windows. Then he stood, and stepped out of the room.

He found Nat, unexpectedly, in Ten Forward, a glass of fruit punch in one hand and her chin propped up on the other, a pile of PADDs scattered across the corner table she’d commandeered. She looked up at Data’s approach, and smiled. “Hey. I thought you were still on shift?”

“I am.”

He took a seat opposite her, and either that information was more telling than he’d realized, or there was something on his that made her smile fade, her face falling as she set her glass down, resting her forearms on the table amidst the sea of PADDs. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” she said.

“I cannot anticipate your response,” Data told her, although this was not strictly true. There were a number of variables to consider, but Data could not imagine that Nat would be overjoyed by the news. “We have received instructions from Starfleet Command.”

“I thought we might.” Nat tipped her head towards the window. “New mission?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you would consider yourself part of a mission before.”

“That’s fair.” She studied him. “What’d they say?”

“We are to bring you to a starbase. You will then be transferred from the _Enterprise_ and brought to Earth.”

“That…doesn’t sound so bad.” Her eyes were flickering between his own, searching out the subtext of his statement.

He gave it to her. “On Earth, Starfleet Command will question you. It is possible they will involve Starfleet Intelligence as well. Then they will turn you over to their scientists, advanced cyberneticists and engineers.”

Nat gave slow nod, sitting back. “And I won’t like that very much.”

“I do not believe you will.” Data folded his hands on the table. “I was still passing into sentience when I underwent Starfleet’s examinations. I did not fully understand the implications of what they were doing to me, the indignity of being treated like an object to analyze, to be taken apart and put together. I do not know that I would willingly submit to it now.”

“But I’m going to have to?”

“I have made a formal protest with the captain,” Data told her. He did not know if it would comfort her to know, but sharing it felt appropriate. “He says the matter is out of his hands, but I intend to speak to Admiral Haftel as well, to petition for your freedom. Starfleet should not be allowed to claim access to your form without first acquiring your consent.”

“Data.” Nat reached out, putting her hand on top of his. He looked down at it, then up at her. Her fingers stroked along the artificial tendons, and she smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to do that for me.”

“On the contrary, I feel it is my duty-“

“It’s your duty to do what your captain tells you to do,” Nat said. “I understand that.”

“He is not the only person who has my loyalty,” Data told her. He looked down at their hands again, then moved one of his to cover hers before meeting her gaze. “You are my friend. You deserve someone to stand by you.”

“I have that already. I have you.” She squeezed his hand. “But that doesn’t mean you need to take on Starfleet for me. I’m willing to go.”

He blinked, withdrawing. “You are? I do not understand.”

“I…don’t understand it much either,” she admitted, and her smile took on a sheepish note. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to spending time in a lab. But I can hold my own, Data. I can fight back.”

“You may not be given the opportunity.”

“I was given full training as a Starfleet security officer,” she pointed out, barely containing a grin. “And that was for a Starfleet in wartime. A bunch of peacekeepers? They don’t stand a chance. I’ll let them get the information they want, but I’m not about to let them walk all over me. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Somehow, that does not alleviate my concern.”

She laughed. “You haven’t even installed the chip yet, and already you’re worried about me? That’s cute, Data.” She picked up her glass and took a swig, leaning back in her chair again. When she set it down, she said, “You told me I was already making choices about the kind of person I wanted to be. And you’re right. I doubt Tasha would have let a bunch of scientists get her in a lab at all, much less to study. But…I’m not Tasha. And maybe I’m not a cyberneticist, but I understand how important this work is. We’re two of a kind, Data. The only ones. If I can help contribute, to find a way to make more of us? I want to do it.” Her gaze slid out the window, going very far away. Data tracked it into the distance, and then back when she murmured, “Tasha felt alone. Even when she was surrounded by people, she felt like no one could understand. I don’t want to be like that. I want people who understand.” She shook her head, and met his eyes again. “I’m not going to let them do anything to me that I don’t want to do. But I have to go.”

“I…understand.”

She smiled, relaxing. “I’m glad.” She tilted her head back, draining her glass, and then said, “I’m sure there’s something very important you have to be doing.”

“I will have to return to the bridge.”

“Go on, then.” She waved him away, picking up one of her PADDs from the messy pile. “I can handle a little time on my own.”

Data stood, picking up one of the PADDs as well and examining the title. “You are studying exobotany?”

“Keiko recommended some readings,” Nat told him. “Gotta say, they’re really interesting.”

“Tasha never expressed an interest in plants of any kind.”

It was not meant to be accusing, nor suggestive. It was a statement of fact. But Nat grinned, inclining her head conspiratorially. “No, she didn’t, did she?” She signaled the waiter with her empty glass. “Go on, then. I’ll see you later.”

“Would you like to meet at my quarters or-“

“ _Go!”_ she laughed, shooing him with the PADD. “I’ll meet you at the holodeck! And I expect to find you properly dressed when I get there!”

“If you have any trouble determining a costume for Irene Adler, I can send you some replicator patterns I have been discussing with the costuming department.”

“ _Data._ ” Her expression was exasperated but fond. “I’ll be alright,” she said. “I’ll figure it out. Now, the ship needs you. Go.”

He took her advice. But, although he was returning to the bridge, his mind was already on the program they’d be playing that afternoon. Data had never run “A Scandal in Bohemia,” either with Geordi or alone. He was looking forward to acting against a partner written with intellect to match his own. Despite later adaptations, The Woman wasn’t a romantic interest for Holmes in the slightest – this, he suspected, was part of why Nat had suggested the exercise – but she was beautiful, and clever, and bold. It was a fitting choice, he thought. And he could not help but relish the opportunity to spend more time with Nat, knowing that soon, it would be coming to an end.


	10. Chapter Nine

Admiral Haftel had been surprised at their request for a conference room before the official turnover, but he had okayed it, provided they met on the starbase. The weight of the occasion to Data seemed to merit dress uniforms, but protocol didn’t agree. He was therefore in his traditional uniform when he met Nat and Captain Picard in Transporter Room Three, as was his captain. Nat was back in the clothes she’d arrived in, although the leather jacket remained. The knot of braids at the back of her head was perfectly in place. She seemed to have gotten the hang of it at last.

“This isn’t goodbye yet,” Picard told him as he joined them on the transporter platform. He glanced towards Nat, and smiled. “This is just the first step.” He nodded to the officer on duty. “Energize.”

The starbase staff was extremely accommodating, directing them towards the conference room with only minimal hassle and staring. Haftel was waiting for them, standing just outside the door, and he inclined his head in greeting when they approached. “Captain.”

“Admiral,” Picard returned. “A pleasure to see you. This is Lieutenant Commander Data, my second officer, and of course, this is Nat.” He indicated each of them in turn, and Data kept his expression neutral.

Haftel’s eyes fixated in on Nat, and he offered out his hand. “The newest Soong-type android. Based on Lieutenant Natasha Yar, wasn’t it?”

Nat hesitated, glancing towards Data, and then took Haftel’s hand, shaking it briefly. Data could see his fingers flex in surprise at the firmness of her grip. “It’s just Nat,” she said. “No last name. And I’m not Lieutenant Yar.”

“Of course,” Haftel backtracked, and Data avoided the impulse to smile. Even Picard appeared surprised at Nat’s forwardness, but Data wasn’t. He wasn’t even surprised about the last name. Nat had stayed up half the night with him, debating whether it was appropriate to leave it or not. She had decided against. Yar hadn’t even been Tasha’s given name, but her chosen one. Data didn’t have a last name either, she’d reasoned. If she ever gained one, she wanted to choose it herself. Data had agreed.

“Shall we?” Picard offered, gesturing in towards the conference room. The admiral nodded, and they took their seats.

“This is just a formality, of course,” Haftel said, producing a PADD and setting it on the table. “These are the orders, putting the android ‘Nat’ in my care. She’ll be delivered to Starfleet Command on Earth, and the _Enterprise_ can get underway. Simple.”

Picard opened his mouth to respond, but Nat beat him to it. “Not quite.”

They all looked at her. Nat produced a PADD of her own. “I have a few stipulations before I consent to going with you.”

“Consent?” Haftel blinked in disbelief.

Nat’s smile was sickly sweet. “Under the measures as defined by Starfleet on Stardate 42527, Soong-type androids are entitled to certain rights of bodily autonomy. My stipulations aren’t unreasonable, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Haftel’s jaw set. He glanced towards Picard, who gave him a polite, unhelpful smile. Data did not change his expression. He had to admit to some surprise. Nat had not discussed this with him at all. “Very well,” Haftel finally relented. “Let’s hear them.”

“First, I’d like to bring the _Initiative_ with me.”

“The initiative?”

“My ship,” she said. Her gaze flicked first to Data, then the captain, a smirk playing at her lips. “It’s currently in the _Enterprise’s_ shuttle bay. It’s very small, but it’s mine, and I’d like to bring it with me.” She folded her hands on the table. “Additionally, Starfleet must run all proposals by me before implementing any experiments on my person. I am willing to work with your scientists, but I get final say in all procedures they run on me. It’s my body, my brain. I don’t want them taking me apart without my say-so. Any sentient being should have that right.”

There was a vein in Haftel’s forehead. Data watched with interest as it throbbed. “Thirdly,” Nat said, “I reserve the right to leave Starfleet’s care at any time of my choosing, or if they violate these stipulations. I am not a piece of property, a ‘toaster’ that you can ship around and stick things into whenever you’d like. I may be a machine, but I can think for myself. You don’t own me. Is that clear?”

Haftel wet his lips. When it became apparent that Nat was waiting for a response, he mumbled, “Clear.” He added, with more self-assuredness, “Of course, I can’t approve of any of these measures on my own. I’ll have to speak to Starfleet Command, and they’ll have to agree to your terms.”

Nat nodded. “Of course. I understand.” Slowly, she laid down a second PADD on top of the first one, and pushed them towards the admiral. “There is another thing I would like you to ask them, separately of my conditions.”

“Oh?”

“I would like to petition to attend Starfleet Academy.”

Data stared at her, but Nat didn’t look at him. He redirected his attention to Picard, but his captain didn’t look surprised. Nat continued, “Captain Picard is willing to endorse me, and I’m fully prepared to take any entrance exams or training you require of me. If I fail, I will accept that. But I would like the opportunity to try. I’m aware Commander Data required the approval of Starfleet Command before he was allowed to be admitted. I’m asking for the same opportunity. Sir.”

It took a moment for Haftel to collect his jaw from the floor. He cleared his throat, and gingerly pulled the PADDs towards him, exchanging them with his own. He scanned them briefly, and then looked up. “I…have to speak to Command. I’ll put forward your proposals, and your request.”

“And what will you do if Starfleet Command rejects the proposals?” Picard put in. He leaned forward, hands clasped. His expression was cool, collected, and utterly in control. “Will you take Nat against her will?”

Nat leaned back, still smirking faintly. There was a hint of worry in her eyes, but Data doubted anyone else in the room could read it.

Haftel hesitated. “I…don’t know. There isn’t a precedent for this situation.” He glanced at Nat, then Data, then back to Picard. “I suppose that will depend on my orders.”

Picard nodded. He looked satisfied. “We’ll await your decision. In the meantime, we’ll return to the _Enterprise_. I’m sure that’s agreeable.”

“Of course.” Haftel made a half-hearted attempt to dismiss them, but Picard was already striding from the room, Nat and Data flanking him.

Picard didn’t speak until they were back on the _Enterprise_ , but when he did, it was with an air of satisfaction. “I thought that went rather well.”

“Yes, sir.” Nat looked equally pleased.

“You’re a fine speaker, Nat. Starfleet would be lucky to have you. Mr. Data.” He inclined his head and took his leave, but Data caught Nat’s arm gently.

“May I speak to you?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Data waited until the officer at transporter controls had been dismissed, but even after the room was empty, he kept his voice low. “You did not mention your intentions to attend Starfleet Academy.”

Nat’s expression turned defensive. She stuck up her chin. “I didn’t realize you had to be informed.”

“I am not attempting to dictate your decision,” Data told her. “I was merely…surprised.”

She studied his face, and then softened. She braced herself against the terminal, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “Yeah. I think the captain was surprised too, when I asked him. But…I don’t know, it feels like the right thing to do.”

“The right thing for whom?” Data questioned. “You are not Tasha. You do not need to take the same path she did.”

“I’m not!” Nat laughed, shaking her head. She bit her lip, smiling at the floor. “No, I’m not a security officer. I could be, if I wanted, but that’s not really for me, I think. Tasha liked the idea of protecting people, of giving back by becoming like the people who rescued her. But that’s not what I want.”

“If you are not taking the security track, then what are your intentions?”

“I was thinking science track,” she admitted. “I really do like botany. It’s definitely not something Tasha would have done, but it feels right. Besides,” she grinned. “I look fantastic in blue.”

“Yes,” Data agreed. “You do.” It was not a decision to base a career choice on, but it was true, and he understood what she was trying to say.

Nat took his hands, and the unexpected contact grounded Data, rooting him to the spot. Softly, she murmured, “I want to thank you. Really. No matter what happens now, no matter what Starfleet says, you were here for me when I needed you. You didn’t have any expectations. You’re a good friend, Data. You deserve the world.”

Data opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say. He closed it again, and kept his voice as soft as hers when he did finally speak. “I have only done what is right. And you have given me your friendship, where I expected none. I do not require any more than that.”

Nat looked like there was something more she wanted to say, but then the doors of the transporter room opened, and the officer was back, along with a few crew members clearly looking to visit the starbase, and the moment was gone. “I will see you later,” Data told Nat, and her brow furrowed, but she did not ask him to stay, to wait out the decision. She let him go.

Ten Forward was mostly empty when he stepped inside, populated sparsely with the people choosing not to take advantage of shore leave. The bar was empty entirely, and Data took a seat on the end, folding his hands on top of the counter, and waiting.

“Room for one more?”

He looked up, and nodded at Commander Riker, who slid into the seat beside him. The server got him his drink, and he didn’t blink when Data ordered one too, disappearing after he set the glass of vivid red punch down on the bar. Data took it, and held it in his hands. The glass was cool to the touch.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” Riker said, nodding to the beverage. He took a sip from his own cup.

“I do not,” Data told him. “I cannot taste it. But Nat is fond of this. I was…curious.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to drink it.”

“I meant about Nat.” Riker crossed his arms on top of the bar. “What are you going to do?”

Data cocked his head. “I was not aware there was anything to do.”

Half a smile pulled at Riker’s lip. “She’s leaving, Data. Whatever happens, she’s not staying here.”

“I am aware of that.”

“And you’re just going to let her?”

Data frowned. “I have no control over Nat’s actions. She wishes to leave, and Starfleet concurs. She cannot stay on the _Enterprise_ , regardless of my feelings for her.”

“But you do have feelings for her.”

Data hesitated. He stared at the countertop, the white lights blurring at the edges of his vision. “I have not installed the emotion chip. I…cannot say for certain that I am feeling anything.”

Riker raised his eyebrows, prompting. “But?”

“But, there is a…weight, of sorts. Here.” He touched the center of his chest, just where the diaphragm would be, if he had one. It did feel heavy, and it had only gotten heavier with each piece of information about Nat’s impending departure. He had run diagnostics, but come up without conclusive results. He hesitated. “Is that love?”

“What do you think?”

Riker was surveying him over the rim of his glass. Data considered. “Captain Picard believes what I feel for Nat is love. He says only I can specify what kind.” He traced the condensation forming on the glass. His thumb came away damp. “I know I care about Nat. In many ways, more than I ever cared about Tasha. Certainly, the two…sensations are not the same, as they are different from the way I consider Geordi, or you. But I do not know if that makes it love.”

“I’ve always thought of love as this…boundless energy,” Riker said. He set his glass down, looking into it, as if speaking a secret to the bottom. “It lights you up inside, and the more you share with others, the brighter you become.”

“That is not how I feel.”

“Then how do you feel, Data?”

For a moment, Data thought, there was a great deal of Counselor Troi in the commander’s smile. “I feel…” He stopped. Standard was an emotional language. Nat had insisted that Data could feel, with or without the emotion chip. But the language he knew did not fit feeling as he knew it. It seemed…slightly off. He tried again, “There is a sensation I have found, when you walk into a room and see something you were not expecting, but which is pleasing to you. It is like a…sense of anticipation, without knowing what it is you are anticipating. You only know that, once you have seen it, that you were waiting for it all along. Does that make sense?”

Riker was smiling. He took another drink, as if to hide it, and then set it down again. “Trust me, Data. It makes perfect sense.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Well.” Riker inclined his head. He tossed back the rest of his drink and stood, and the look he gave Data was pointed, yet cryptic. He thumped Data’s back lightly, a show of affection. “That depends on what you’re waiting for, doesn’t it?” And before Data could ask him to clarify, he was off, the doors of Ten Forward swishing shut behind him.

Data looked at his drink again. Tentatively, he took a sip. It did not contain any actual fruit, he thought. Nor anything resembling the product of one. It was red, and it was sweet. Both these things, he knew logically, from the input to his sensory system. But it still did not have any taste.


	11. Chapter Ten

“Can I…talk to you a minute?”

Data looked up to see Nat peering around the corner of Engineering, her arms wrapped tightly around her body and her face a mixture of pain and uncertainty. He stood, beckoning her over to him. “Of course. Is something wrong?”

“I…don’t know.” Nat stepped into the alcove with him. The pulsing lights of the warp engine reflected off her eyes, swimming in blue. She took in a shuddering breath. “I think…I think something’s wrong. I need you to fix it.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Starfleet Command called. They’re willing to agree to my terms. All of them. I leave for Earth first thing in the morning.”

Data cocked his head. “But that is good news. That is what you wanted, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but…” Nat trailed off, sucking in another lungful of air, and letting it out in a sound that was almost a whimper. She rocked on the balls of her feet, clutching her stomach tighter. “You were supposed to fix me, Data, you and Geordi said you’d fix it. I shouldn’t feel…”

Androids did not get nauseous, in Data’s experience, but Nat looked close to being sick. He stared at her, eyes wide. There was something thrumming in his chest. Anticipation. It was counteracting the weight. “Nat, Geordi and I corrected the error. The pathways should not be-“

“Well they are!” Nat bit down on the end of the statement, as if that could counteract the shrillness of the words. Her voice was only marginally steadier when she said, “I ran a self-diagnostic, but it says nothing’s wrong, and I can’t hook into the computer with your codes and I’m _scared,_ Data. I want to go to Starfleet, but I _can’t_ , it _hurts_. I don’t want to leave you!”

Data guided her to sit down. There were tears on her cheeks, and the sight of her in distress was no longer a wonder, but an addition to the weight in his chest, drilling deeper. He hesitated, and then offered, “I will run a diagnostic. It will be alright.” With care, he hooked her into the computer. “It will take a few minutes for the computer to make a thorough sweep.”

She nodded, and sniffled. Data watched her. It felt wrong to see her cry. Softly, he asked, “You are feeling the pull again?”

“Yes.” The word was choked. Nat swallowed hard. “It’s not…it’s not as strong as before, but it’s there. I was halfway through packing and I thought of you and suddenly I felt sick.”

The computer beeped, and Data scanned the results. He shook his head, “Nat, the work that Geordi and I did has not been undone. The pathways have not reconnected.”

“That’s not possible!” She stared at him. Data looked back. He had never truly understood the expression ‘wrong-footed,’ but he suddenly did now. He was unsteady on his own feet. He sat down across from her, but even the chair felt precarious.

“Nat,” he said carefully. “Is it possible that what you are feeling is genuine?”

“What?”

“You ran a diagnostic and found nothing wrong. The computer tells us the same. It is possible that, without being programmed to feel it, you feel love?”

She gaped at him. Her head moved, as if to shake no, but then she stopped it, her eyes dropped instead to the floor. “This is real,” she said quietly, as if she did not quite believe the words. “How can this be real? I tried so hard not to…”

“It is causing you pain.”

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t want to feel like this. I’m not supposed to love you.”

Data reached out, hesitated, and then finished the motion. He touched her hand, and she did not pull away. “I am not the same person that you were programmed to love. Before these last few weeks, you had never heard me play the violin. You had never seen me paint. We had never taken walks in the arboretum, with the flowers you love, or played Sherlock Holmes on the holodeck. I am your friend, in a way that he never was. Is it really so bad to fall in love with a friend?”

She looked up at him, eyes still scared and shining, and Data almost didn’t continue. But something in him, perhaps instinct, perhaps not, kept him speaking. “I have chosen not to implement the emotion chip. Not yet. I no longer believe I am prepared to handle to resulting emotions. Because I believe I love you. It is very likely that I am falling _in love_ with you. And you are leaving.” He reached up, cupping her cheek. She turned into his palm, and shut her eyes again. Her bioplast skin was soft beneath his hand. “I know it is not what you wanted. I am sorry. But it is the truth.”

She laughed. It was a wet and shaky sound, and it puffed her breath hot against his wrist, but it was not a sad sound. It was disbelieving, but not sad. She curled her fingers over his. “I’m not...just Tasha. I’m different. But I think she’ll always be a part of me. I don’t know if that’s the part that loves you. Maybe it’s something else. But I can’t imagine any universe where someone like me couldn’t love someone like you. You’re sweet, Data, and you’re kind, and when I’m not with you I can’t help wondering what it would be like if you were, if you were by my side. I keep getting pulled back to you, and if it’s not programming, it must be love. And maybe that’s okay.” She kissed his palm, and then pulled away, wiping her eyes and smiling just a little. “I’m going to miss you at Starfleet Academy.”

“And I will miss you. But we will function when we are apart. That is not how we experience love.”

It made her laugh again, still blinking to contain the last traces of tears. “So, where does that leave us?”

Data hesitated, then shook his head. “I do not know.”

“A starship is quite the long distance.”

Data nodded. “I suppose we will have to see.”

She stood up, and held out her hands. He took them. “Come on,” she said. “I’ve got one last night on board. I’d like to spend it with you.”

“If you are attempting to be flirtatious, I do not think it would be a good idea to-“

She put a finger over his lips, biting back a grin. “No. Not tonight. I was thinking night shift in the arboretum. I bet the flowers look beautiful in moonlight.”

“It is an artificial moon,” he reminded her, but without any resistance. After all, it may have been computer generated, but that did not make the image any less real.

Nat fell asleep like that, the two of them sprawled out on the grass by the pond, bathed in moonlight. Nat’s head wound up on Data’s shoulder. He stroked her hair back out of her face. He did not need sleep, but he closed his eyes anyway, and gave himself over to the moment.

He wasn’t the only one who came to the transporter room to see her off in the morning. Deanna stopped briefly, to hug her goodbye, and to make Nat promise to contact her if she had any problems on Earth. Worf stood at the transporter terminal, his head high and dignified, but Data knew it wasn’t his shift. He was there for the send-off.

Geordi hugged Nat briefly, squeezing her shoulders when he pulled away, and grinning at her broadly. “Don’t pick too many fights with the science team, alright? I’d hate to have to come to Earth and give them an earful for you.”

She laughed. “I make no promises.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

Riker stayed near Worf by the control panel, but Picard stepped forward, embracing her in a gesture just shy of a hug. “It was a pleasure to get to know you,” he said. “I cannot speak for the woman who created you, nor should I think you’d want me to, but I can tell you this. Our Tasha would have been proud to see you now. I’m sure you will do great things at Starfleet, given half a chance.”

“I intend to sir.”

He nodded sharply and stepped away, and Nat looked to Data. She smiled, and it was a little bit sad, but a great deal more happy. “Hey,” she said. “Write to me, okay?”

“Only if you promise to write as well.”

“I promise.” After a moment’s hesitation, she embraced him, hugging him tight to her chest and burying her face in his neck. Data wrapped his arms around her, pressing his nose into her hair and, for just a moment, closing his eyes. She looked up, and his gaze met hers. “I really am going to miss you.”

“I will always be here.” He brushed his fingertips along her temple, and then touched his own. “Just as you will be with me.”

“Still.” She tried to hide her watering eyes with a joke and a smile. “Maybe I’ll get a cat.”

“It is an idea worth considering.”

She stretched up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Data blinked, and were he capable, he might have blushed. Nat smiled, shouldering her carrycase and stepping up onto the transporter platform. “Alright. I’m ready.”

“Mr. Worf,” Riker said. “Energize.”

Worf nodded. Light engulfed her, and then she was gone. The memory, like an afterimage, remained at the front of Data’s visual cortex for a few seconds, even after.

Riker put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll see her again, Data.”

“Yes, sir.” Data looked to Picard. The captain was stoic, but even without being well-versed in emotion, Data could see the pride in his eyes. “Captain,” he said, “I would like to formally inform you that I am delaying the installation of the emotion chip.”

“Oh?” Picard raised his eyebrows, but there was a knowing smile on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Data said. “I have determined that it may be too…” he glanced towards the empty platform again, “…overwhelming for me to attempt at this time. Someday, I will. When I am ready.”

Picard glanced around, at his security officer and his second in command. He looked back to Data, and he smiled. “I think, Mr. Data, that that will be a very bright day indeed. Not just for you, but for humanity.”


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Epilogue time. Thank you for coming with me on this journey. It might not have been the story you wanted or expected, but it was the story I needed to tell.
> 
> I might not be as active posting in the next few weeks, but rest assured, I am not abandoning datasha. I have a longfic (longer than this one!) in the works, and while I'm sure I'll "cheat" and work on oneshots to post before I'm done with it, that'll be my main focus until whenever I can manage to finish it. Anyway, that being said, I hope you enjoy the epilogue.

Data shifted uneasily, half-jostled by the swelling crowd of family and friends gathered on the lawn. It had been many years since he had been in San Francisco, but the city was as beautiful as he remembered it, and the Starfleet Academy campus shone just as brightly in the afternoon sun. He had expected the swell in his chest at the sight of the institution, and he had learned to ride these crests with, if not ease, then at least with confidence.

A shriek of delight rang out to his left, the sound condensing into his name, but even his android reflexes could not turn him fast enough before he was being bowled over, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, excited kisses being peppered across his cheeks.

He landed in the grass, on his back, and blinked up at Nat in surprise. His breath caught in his throat, suddenly tight. He wet his lips, and tried to speak, but no sound came out.

She was beautiful. He had always known that, of course, but there was something different about seeing it now. Nat’s blue eyes sparkled in the sun, complimented by the blue of her uniform, one shiny ensign pip at the collar. He’d spent the past several years seeing her in her cadet reds, but this suited her even better. Her hair had been up, but in tackling him strands had fallen out, and they floated around her face like golden thread. This was not a swell. This was a tidal wave, and the force it hit Data with was near enough to drown him.

He managed to sit up, Nat still astride him, but his chest was too tight. The words wouldn’t form.

She beamed at him. “I’m so glad you could come.”

His tongue unstuck. “I would not have missed your graduation.”

She clambered off of him, helping him to his feet. He was sure she could feel his pulse racing under her hands. It was certainly loud enough in his ears. “Did Captain Picard make it?” she asked, glancing around hopefully.

He nodded. “The captain was sidetracked by some friends. He will return shortly.”

She lurched forward, hugging him again, and Data shut his eyes, squeezing them against the tears that were forming. It was harder to overwhelm him these days, but clearly not impossible. Nat pulled back, and looked up at him. She studied his face. “Are you alright?”

He tried to speak again and failed. He settled for shaking his head, bowing it and taking a deep breath. It helped enough for him to say, “I did not expect it to feel like this.”

Her eyes widened. She’d known, he’d told her, but there was a difference between letters and video calls and standing here with her now, in person. Data’s lungs were artificial, but they could not pull in enough air. She placed a hand over his chest. “How does it feel?”

A laugh punched out of him. “It feels…” He shook his head, grinning. “It feels like finding something you did not know you were waiting for.” He looked down at her. “It feels amazing.” He tilted her chin up, stroking his thumb along her cheek. “I love you.”

She laughed. “I don’t think there was any doubt of that.” She stretched up, wrapping her arm around his neck and kissing him, and Data let out a shaky exhale against her lips, clutching at her shoulders. They parted, and she rested her forehead against his. “Just for the record, I love you too.”

Over her shoulder, Data saw Picard approaching, and broke away, turning Nat gently so she could see him too. Picard smiled broadly at her, and waved her down when she snapped to attention. “At ease, ensign. There’ll be plenty of time for that on board the _Enterprise_. Right now, I’m here as a friend.”

“On board the _Enterprise?”_ Data questioned.

Nat bit her lip, grinning sheepishly. “Surprise?”

Picard set a hand on her shoulder. “It just so happens we could use a promising young exobotanist on the flagship of the fleet. And there are worse choices than one who graduated top of her class.” He gave them a playful, knowing expression. “Not to mention one who will make my second officer very, _very_ happy.”

Data wrapped his arm around Nat’s shoulders, and she returned the gesture with one around his waist, leaning into his side. “I approve of your choice, sir,” Data teased, and pressed a kiss to the top of Nat’s head on a whim. The waves were still cresting, but he was beginning to ride them with ease.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Picard said. He turned to Nat. “Now. I’m sure you have better things to do than play chaperone for your captain this afternoon. I will see you in one week. And you, Mr. Data.” He shot Data a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your shore leave.”

“Oh, we will.” Nat grinned up at him, and Data felt himself flush.

Picard chuckled. “Congratulations, Ensign. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Thank you, sir.” As the captain walked away, Nat turned into Data, circling both her arms around his waist and pressing into his chest, as if after so long of being denied physical contact, she was making up for every second. “So,” she said, and an impish expression flashed across her features. “How would you like to spend our first day of shore leave?”

“I suspect you already have a suggestion.”

Nat laughed. “I can think of a few.” They began to walk, arm in arm, and Nat’s expression sobered. “I got a letter,” she said quietly. “From Tasha.”

Data blinked down at her. His chest clenched, but he couldn’t interpret the feeling.

“I guess she’s still alive,” Nat said. “I’m…not sure how to feel about it.”

“That is understandable.”

“Yeah.” Nat looked reflective. Her grip on Data tightened almost imperceptibly. “I haven’t read it yet. The letter. I don’t know if I’m going to.”

“You should do what you feel is right,” Data said. He squeezed her hand gently. “You are more than the sum of your programming, Nat. You have become something truly amazing, and you did it without Tasha. That is something to be proud of.”

“She’s still a part of me,” Nat said. “That will never go away.”

“Perhaps not. But it is what you do with that part that makes a difference.” He looked down at her. “Tasha would be fortunate to have you in her life. You should do what makes you happy.”

Nat looked up at him, and smiled. “You make me happy,” she said. “My work makes me happy. Everything else…I’m willing to work with.”

“Then you will read the letter?”

“I’ll think about it.” Nat hugged his arm, and rested her head against his shoulder. “Right now, all I want to do is be with you.”

“That is convenient,” he told her, “because that is all I want as well.”

The sun was shining in San Francisco, and that was nice. But the fog could have been dense enough to cut and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Data felt like he was glowing, from the inside out. And perhaps it was just a malfunction of his optronic sensors, but he could swear Nat was glowing as well.


End file.
